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diff --git a/2761-0.txt b/2761-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fff382b --- /dev/null +++ b/2761-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8597 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Benita, by H. Rider Haggard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Benita + An African Romance + +Author: H. Rider Haggard + +Release Date: August, 2001 [eBook #2761] +[Most recently updated: August 22, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: John Bickers, Emma Dudding, Dagny and David Widger + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BENITA *** + + + + +BENITA + +AN AFRICAN ROMANCE + +By H. Rider Haggard + + + + NOTE. + + It may interest readers of this story to know that its author + believes it to have a certain foundation in fact. + + It was said about five-and-twenty or thirty years ago that an + adventurous trader, hearing from some natives in the territory + that lies at the back of Quilimane, the legend of a great treasure + buried in or about the sixteenth century by a party of Portuguese + who were afterwards massacred, as a last resource attempted its + discovery by the help of a mesmerist. According to this history + the child who was used as a subject in the experiment, when in a + state of trance, detailed the adventures and death of the unhappy + Portuguese men and women, two of whom leapt from the point of a + high rock into the Zambesi. Although he knew no tongue but + English, this clairvoyant child is declared to have repeated in + Portuguese the prayers these unfortunates offered up, and even to + have sung the very hymns they sang. Moreover, with much other + detail, he described the burial of the great treasure and its + exact situation so accurately that the white man and the mesmerist + were able to dig for and find the place where _it had been_--for + the bags were gone, swept out by the floods of the river. + + Some gold coins remained, however, one of them a ducat of Aloysius + Mocenigo, Doge of Venice. Afterwards the boy was again thrown into + a trance (in all he was mesmerized eight times), and revealed + where the sacks still lay; but before the white trader could renew + his search for them, the party was hunted out of the country by + natives whose superstitious fears were aroused, barely escaping + with their lives. + + It should be added that, as in the following tale, the chief who + was ruling there when the tragedy happened, declared the place to + be sacred, and that if it were entered evil would befall his + tribe. Thus it came about that for generations it was never + violated, until at length his descendants were driven farther from + the river by war, and from one of them the white man heard the + legend. + + + + +BENITA--AN AFRICAN ROMANCE + + + + +I + +CONFIDENCES + +Beautiful, beautiful was that night! No air that stirred; the black +smoke from the funnels of the mail steamer _Zanzibar_ lay low over the +surface of the sea like vast, floating ostrich plumes that vanished one +by one in the starlight. Benita Beatrix Clifford, for that was her full +name, who had been christened Benita after her mother and Beatrix after +her father’s only sister, leaning idly over the bulwark rail, thought +to herself that a child might have sailed that sea in a boat of bark and +come safely into port. + +Then a tall man of about thirty years of age, who was smoking a cigar, +strolled up to her. At his coming she moved a little as though to make +room for him beside her, and there was something in the motion which, +had anyone been there to observe it, might have suggested that these two +were upon terms of friendship, or still greater intimacy. For a moment +he hesitated, and while he did so an expression of doubt, of distress +even, gathered on his face. It was as though he understood that a great +deal depended on whether he accepted or declined that gentle invitation, +and knew not which to do. + +Indeed, much did depend upon it, no less than the destinies of both of +them. If Robert Seymour had gone by to finish his cigar in solitude, why +then this story would have had a very different ending; or, rather, who +can say how it might have ended? The dread, foredoomed event with which +that night was big would have come to its awful birth leaving certain +words unspoken. Violent separation must have ensued, and even if both of +them had survived the terror, what prospect was there that their lives +would again have crossed each other in that wide Africa? + +But it was not so fated, for just as he put his foot forward to continue +his march Benita spoke in her low and pleasant voice. + +“Are you going to the smoking-room or to the saloon to dance, Mr. +Seymour? One of the officers just told me that there is to be a dance,” + she added, in explanation, “because it is so calm that we might fancy +ourselves ashore.” + +“Neither,” he answered. “The smoking-room is stuffy, and my dancing days +are over. No; I proposed to take exercise after that big dinner, and +then to sit in a chair and fall asleep. But,” he added, and his voice +grew interested, “how did you know that it was I? You never turned your +head.” + +“I have ears in my head as well as eyes,” she answered with a little +laugh, “and after we have been nearly a month together on this ship I +ought to know your step.” + +“I never remember that anyone ever recognized it before,” he said, more +to himself than to her, then came and leaned over the rail at her side. +His doubts were gone. Fate had spoken. + +For a while there was silence between them, then he asked her if she +were not going to the dance. + +Benita shook her head. + +“Why not? You are fond of dancing, and you dance very well. Also there +are plenty of officers for partners, especially Captain----” and he +checked himself. + +“I know,” she said; “it would be pleasant, but--Mr. Seymour, will you +think me foolish if I tell you something?” + +“I have never thought you foolish yet, Miss Clifford, so I don’t know +why I should begin now. What is it?” + +“I am not going to the dance because I am afraid, yes, horribly afraid.” + +“Afraid! Afraid of what?” + +“I don’t quite know, but, Mr. Seymour, I feel as though we were all +of us upon the edge of some dreadful catastrophe--as though there were +about to be a mighty change, and beyond it another life, something +new and unfamiliar. It came over me at dinner--that was why I left the +table. Quite suddenly I looked, and all the people were different, yes, +all except a few.” + +“Was I different?” he asked curiously. + +“No, you were not,” and he thought he heard her add “Thank God!” beneath +her breath. + +“And were you different?” + +“I don’t know. I never looked at myself; I was the seer, not the seen. I +have always been like that.” + +“Indigestion,” he said reflectively. “We eat too much on board ship, +and the dinner was very long and heavy. I told you so, that’s why I’m +taking--I mean why I wanted to take exercise.” + +“And to go to sleep afterwards.” + +“Yes, first the exercise, then the sleep. Miss Clifford, that is the +rule of life--and death. With sleep thought ends, therefore for some of +us your catastrophe is much to be desired, for it would mean long sleep +and no thought.” + +“I said that they were changed, not that they had ceased to think. +Perhaps they thought the more.” + +“Then let us pray that your catastrophe may be averted. I prescribe +for you bismuth and carbonate of soda. Also in this weather it seems +difficult to imagine such a thing. Look now, Miss Clifford,” he added, +with a note of enthusiasm in his voice, pointing towards the east, +“look.” + +Her eyes followed his outstretched hand, and there, above the level +ocean, rose the great orb of the African moon. Lo! of a sudden all that +ocean turned to silver, a wide path of rippling silver stretched from +it to them. It might have been the road of angels. The sweet soft light +beat upon their ship, showing its tapering masts and every detail of the +rigging. It passed on beyond them, and revealed the low, foam-fringed +coast-line rising here and there, dotted with kloofs and their clinging +bush. Even the round huts of Kaffir kraals became faintly visible in +that radiance. Other things became visible also--for instance, the +features of this pair. + +The man was light in his colouring, fair-skinned, with fair hair which +already showed a tendency towards greyness, especially in the moustache, +for he wore no beard. His face was clean cut, not particularly handsome, +since, their fineness notwithstanding, his features lacked regularity; +the cheekbones were too high and the chin was too small, small faults +redeemed to some extent by the steady and cheerful grey eyes. For +the rest, he was broad-shouldered and well-set-up, sealed with the +indescribable stamp of the English gentleman. Such was the appearance of +Robert Seymour. + +In that light the girl at his side looked lovely, though, in fact, she +had no real claims to loveliness, except perhaps as regards her figure, +which was agile, rounded, and peculiarly graceful. Her foreign-looking +face was unusual, dark-eyed, a somewhat large and very mobile mouth, +fair and waving hair, a broad forehead, a sweet and at times wistful +face, thoughtful for the most part, but apt to be irradiated by sudden +smiles. Not a beautiful woman at all, but exceedingly attractive, one +possessing magnetism. + +She gazed, first at the moon and the silver road beneath it, then, +turning, at the land beyond. + +“We are very near to Africa, at last,” she said. + +“Too near, I think,” he answered. “If I were the captain I should stand +out a point or two. It is a strange country, full of surprises. Miss +Clifford, will you think me rude if I ask you why you are going there? +You have never told me--quite.” + +“No, because the story is rather a sad one; but you shall hear it if you +wish. Do you?” + +He nodded, and drew up two deck chairs, in which they settled themselves +in a corner made by one of the inboard boats, their faces still towards +the sea. + +“You know I was born in Africa,” she said, “and lived there till I was +thirteen years old--why, I find I can still speak Zulu; I did so this +afternoon. My father was one of the early settlers in Natal. His father +was a clergyman, a younger son of the Lincolnshire Cliffords. They are +great people there still, though I don’t suppose that they are aware of +my existence.” + +“I know them,” answered Robert Seymour. “Indeed, I was shooting at their +place last November--when the smash came,” and he sighed; “but go on.” + +“Well, my father quarrelled with his father, I don’t know what about, +and emigrated. In Natal he married my mother, a Miss Ferreira, whose +name--like mine and her mother’s--was Benita. She was one of two +sisters, and her father, Andreas Ferreira, who married an English lady, +was half Dutch and half Portuguese. I remember him well, a fine old man +with dark eyes and an iron-grey beard. He was wealthy as things went +in those days--that is to say, he had lots of land in Natal and the +Transvaal, and great herds of stock. So you see I am half English, some +Dutch, and more than a quarter Portuguese--quite a mixture of races. My +father and mother did not get on well together. Mr. Seymour, I may as +well tell you all the truth: he drank, and although he was passionately +fond of her, she was jealous of him. Also he gambled away most of her +patrimony, and after old Andreas Ferreira’s death they grew poor. One +night there was a dreadful scene between them, and in his madness he +struck her. + +“Well, she was a very proud woman, determined, too, and she turned on +him and said--for I heard her--‘I will never forgive you; we have done +with each other.’ Next morning, when my father was sober, he begged her +pardon, but she made no answer, although he was starting somewhere on +a fortnight’s trek. When he had gone my mother ordered the Cape cart, +packed up her clothes, took some money that she had put away, drove to +Durban, and after making arrangements at the bank about a small private +income of her own, sailed with me for England, leaving a letter for my +father in which she said that she would never see him again, and if he +tried to interfere with me she would put me under the protection of the +English court, which would not allow me to be taken to the home of a +drunkard. + +“In England we went to live in London with my aunt, who had married a +Major King, but was a widow with five children. My father often wrote to +persuade my mother to go back to him, but she never would, which I think +was wrong of her. So things went on for twelve years or more, till +one day my mother suddenly died, and I came into her little fortune of +between £200 and £300 a year, which she had tied up so that nobody can +touch it. That was about a year ago. I wrote to tell my father of her +death, and received a pitiful letter; indeed, I have had several of +them. He implored me to come out to him and not to leave him to die in +his loneliness, as he soon would do of a broken heart, if I did not. He +said that he had long ago given up drinking, which was the cause of the +ruin of his life, and sent a certificate signed by a magistrate and a +doctor to that effect. Well, in the end, although all my cousins and +their mother advised me against it, I consented, and here I am. He is to +meet me at Durban, but how we shall get on together is more than I can +say, though I long to see him, for after all he is my father.” + +“It was good of you to come, under all the circumstances. You must have +a brave heart,” said Robert reflectively. + +“It is my duty,” she answered. “And for the rest, I am not afraid who +was born to Africa. Indeed, often and often have I wished to be back +there again, out on the veld, far away from the London streets and fog. +I am young and strong, and I want to see things, natural things--not +those made by man, you know--the things I remember as a child. One can +always go back to London.” + +“Yes, or at least some people can. It is a curious thing, Miss Clifford, +but as it happens I have met your father. You always reminded me of the +man, but I had forgotten his name. Now it comes back to me; it _was_ +Clifford.” + +“Where on earth?” she asked, astonished. + +“In a queer place. As I told you, I have visited South Africa before, +under different circumstances. Four years ago I was out here big-game +shooting. Going in from the East coast my brother and I--he is dead now, +poor fellow--got up somewhere in the Matabele country, on the banks of +the Zambesi. As we didn’t find much game there we were going to strike +south, when some natives told us of a wonderful ruin that stood on +a hill overhanging the river a few miles farther on. So, leaving the +waggon on the hither side of the steep nek, over which it would have +been difficult to drag it, my brother and I took our rifles and a bag +of food and started. The place was farther off than we thought, although +from the top of the nek we could see it clearly enough, and before we +reached it dark had fallen. + +“Now we had observed a waggon and a tent outside the wall which we +thought must belong to white men, and headed for them. There was a light +in the tent, and the flap was open, the night being very hot. Inside +two men were seated, one old, with a grey beard, and the other, a +good-looking fellow--under forty, I should say--with a Jewish face, +dark, piercing eyes, and a black, pointed beard. They were engaged +in examining a heap of gold beads and bangles, which lay on the table +between them. As I was about to speak, the black-bearded man heard or +caught sight of us, and seizing a rifle that leaned against the table, +swung round and covered me. + +“‘For God’s sake don’t shoot, Jacob,’ said the old man; ‘they are +English.’ + +“‘Best dead, any way,’ answered the other, in a soft voice, with a +slight foreign accent, ‘we don’t want spies or thieves here.’ + +“‘We are neither, but I can shoot as well as you, friend,’ I remarked, +for by this time my rifle was on him. + +“Then he thought better of it, and dropped his gun, and we explained +that we were merely on an archæological expedition. The end of it was +that we became capital friends, though neither of us could cotton much +to Mr. Jacob--I forget his other name. He struck me as too handy with +his rifle, and was, I gathered, an individual with a mysterious and +rather lurid past. To cut a long story short, when he found out that +we had no intention of poaching, your father, for it was he, told us +frankly that they were treasure-hunting, having got hold of some +story about a vast store of gold which had been hidden away there by +Portuguese two or three centuries before. Their trouble was, however, +that the Makalanga, who lived in the fortress, which was called +Bambatse, would not allow them to dig, because they said the place was +haunted, and if they did so it would bring bad luck to their tribe.” + +“And did they ever get in?” asked Benita. + +“I am sure I don’t know, for we went next day, though before we left we +called on the Makalanga, who admitted us all readily enough so long as +we brought no spades with us. By the way, the gold we saw your father +and his friend examining was found in some ancient graves outside the +walls, but had nothing to do with the big and mythical treasure.” + +“What was the place like? I love old ruins,” broke in Benita again. + +“Oh! wonderful. A gigantic, circular wall built by heaven knows who, +then half-way up the hill another wall, and near the top a third wall +which, I understood, surrounded a sort of holy of holies, and above +everything, on the brink of the precipice, a great cone of granite.” + +“Artificial or natural?” + +“I don’t know. They would not let us up there, but we were introduced +to their chief and high priest, Church and State in one, and a wonderful +old man he was, very wise and very gentle. I remember he told me he +believed we should meet again, which seemed an odd thing for him to say. +I asked him about the treasure and why he would not let the other white +men look for it. He answered that it would never be found by any man, +white or black, that only a woman would find it at the appointed time, +when it pleased the Spirit of Bambatse, under whose guardianship it +was.” + +“Who was the Spirit of Bambatse, Mr. Seymour?” + +“I can’t tell you, couldn’t make out anything definite about her, except +that she was said to be white, and to appear sometimes at sunrise, or in +the moonlight, standing upon the tall point of rock of which I told you. +I remember that I got up before the dawn to look for her--like an idiot, +for of course I saw nothing--and that’s all I know about the matter.” + +“Did you have any talk with my father, Mr. Seymour--alone, I mean?” + +“Yes, a little. The next day he walked back to our waggon with us, being +glad, I fancy, of a change from the perpetual society of his partner +Jacob. That wasn’t wonderful in a man who had been brought up at +Eton and Oxford, as I found out he had, like myself, and whatever his +failings may have been--although we saw no sign of them, for he would +not touch a drop of spirits--was a gentleman, which Jacob wasn’t. Still, +he--Jacob--had read a lot, especially on out-of-the-way subjects, +and could talk every language under the sun--a clever and agreeable +scoundrel in short.” + +“Did my father say anything about himself?” + +“Yes; he told me that he had been an unsuccessful man all his life, +and had much to reproach himself with, for we got quite confidential at +last. He added that he had a family in England--what family he didn’t +say--whom he was anxious to make wealthy by way of reparation for past +misdeeds, and that was why he was treasure-hunting. However, from what +you tell me, I fear he never found anything.” + +“No, Mr. Seymour, he never found it and never will, but all the same +I am glad to hear that he was thinking of us. Also I should like to +explore that place, Bambatse.” + +“So should I, Miss Clifford, in your company, and your father’s, but not +in that of Jacob. If ever you should go there with him, I say:--‘Beware +of Jacob.’” + +“Oh! I am not afraid of Jacob,” she answered with a laugh, “although I +believe that my father still has something to do with him--at least in +one of his letters he mentioned his partner, who was a German.” + +“A German! I think that he must have meant a German Jew.” + +After this there was silence between them for a time, then he said +suddenly, “You have told me your story, would you like to hear mine?” + +“Yes,” she answered. + +“Well, it won’t take you long to listen to it, for, Miss Clifford, +like Canning’s needy knife-grinder, I have really none to tell. You +see before you one of the most useless persons in the world, an +undistinguished member of what is called in England the ‘leisured +class,’ who can do absolutely nothing that is worth doing, except shoot +straight.” + +“Indeed,” said Benita. + +“You do not seem impressed with that accomplishment,” he went on, “yet +it is an honest fact that for the last fifteen years--I was thirty-two +this month--practically my whole time has been given up to it, with a +little fishing thrown in in the spring. As I want to make the most of +myself, I will add that I am supposed to be among the six best shots in +England, and that my ambition--yes, great Heavens! my ambition--was to +become better than the other five. By that sin fell the poor man who +speaks to you. I was supposed to have abilities, but I neglected them +all to pursue this form of idleness. I entered no profession, I did +no work, with the result that at thirty-two I am ruined and almost +hopeless.” + +“Why ruined and hopeless?” she asked anxiously, for the way in which +they were spoken grieved her more than the words themselves. + +“Ruined because my old uncle, the Honourable John Seymour Seymour, whose +heir I was, committed the indiscretion of marrying a young lady who has +presented him with thriving twins. With the appearance of those twins my +prospects disappeared, as did the allowance of £1,500 a year that he +was good enough to make me on which to keep up a position as his +next-of-kin. I had something of my own, but also I had debts, and at the +present moment a draft in my pocket for £2,163 14s. 5d., and a little +loose cash, represents the total of my worldly goods, just about the sum +I have been accustomed to spend per annum.” + +“I don’t call that ruin, I call that riches,” said Benita, relieved. +“With £2,000 to begin on you may make a fortune in Africa. But how about +the hopelessness?” + +“I am hopeless because I have absolutely nothing to which to look +forward. Really, when that £2,000 is gone I do not know how to earn a +sixpence. In this dilemma it occurred to me that the only thing I could +do was to turn my shooting to practical account, and become a hunter of +big game. Therefore I propose to kill elephants until an elephant kills +me. At least,” he added in a changed voice, “I did so propose until half +an hour ago.” + + + + +II + +THE END OF THE “ZANZIBAR.” + +“Until half an hour ago? Then why----” and Benita stopped. + +“Have I changed my very modest scheme of life? Miss Clifford, as you are +so good as to be sufficiently interested, I will tell you. It is because +a temptation which hitherto I have been able to resist, has during the +last thirty minutes become too strong for me. You know everything has +its breaking strain.” He puffed nervously at his cigar, threw it into +the sea, paused, then went on: “Miss Clifford, I have dared to fall in +love with you. No; hear me out. When I have done it will be quite time +enough to give me the answer that I expect. Meanwhile, for the first +time in my life, allow me the luxury of being in earnest. To me it is a +new sensation, and therefore very priceless. May I go on?” + +Benita made no answer. He rose with a certain deliberateness which +characterized all his movements--for Robert Seymour never seemed to be +in a hurry--and stood in front of her so that the moonlight shone upon +her face, while his own remained in shadow. + +“Beyond that £2,000 of which I have spoken, and incidentally its +owner, I have nothing whatsoever to offer to you. I am an indigent and +worthless person. Even in my prosperous days, when I could look forward +to a large estate, although it was often suggested to me, I never +considered myself justified in asking any lady to share--the prospective +estate. I think now that the real reason was that I never cared +sufficiently for any lady, since otherwise my selfishness would probably +have overcome my scruples, as it does to-night. Benita, for I will call +you so, if for the first and last time, I--I--love you. + +“Listen now,” he went on, dropping his measured manner, and speaking +hurriedly, like a man with an earnest message and little time in which +to deliver it, “it is an odd thing, an incomprehensible thing, but +true, true--I fell in love with you the first time I saw your face. You +remember, you stood there leaning over the bulwark when I came on board +at Southampton, and as I walked up the gangway, I looked and my eyes met +yours. Then I stopped, and that stout old lady who got off at Madeira +bumped into me, and asked me to be good enough to make up my mind if I +were going backward or forward. Do you remember?” + +“Yes,” she answered in a low voice. + +“Which things are an allegory,” he continued. “I felt it so at the time. +Yes, I had half a mind to answer ‘Backward’ and give up my berth in +this ship. Then I looked at you again, and something inside of me said +‘Forward.’ So I came up the rest of the gangway and took off my hat +to you, a salutation I had no right to make, but which, I recall, you +acknowledged.” + +He paused, then continued: “As it began, so it has gone on. It is always +like that, is it not? The beginning is everything, the end must follow. +And now it has come out, as I was fully determined that it should not do +half an hour ago, when suddenly you developed eyes in the back of your +head, and--oh! dearest, I love you. No, please be quiet; I have not +done. I have told you what I am, and really there isn’t much more to say +about me, for I have no particular vices except the worst of them all, +idleness, and not the slightest trace of any virtue that I can discover. +But I have a certain knowledge of the world acquired in a long course of +shooting parties, and as a man of the world I will venture to give you a +bit of advice. It is possible that to you my life and death affair is +a mere matter of board-ship amusement. Yet it is possible also that you +might take another view of the matter. In that case, as a friend and a +man of the world, I entreat you--don’t. Have nothing to do with me. Send +me about my business; you will never regret it.” + +“Are you making fun, or is all this meant, Mr. Seymour?” asked Benita, +still speaking beneath her breath, and looking straight before her. + +“Meant? Of course it is meant. How can you ask?” + +“Because I have always understood that on such occasions people wish to +make the best of themselves.” + +“Quite so, but I never do what I ought, a fact for which I am grateful +now come to think of it, since otherwise I should not be here to-night. +I wish to make the worst of myself, the very worst, for whatever I am +not, at least I am honest. Now having told you that I am, or was half +an hour ago, an idler, a good-for-nothing, prospectless failure, I ask +you--if you care to hear any more?” + +She half rose, and, glancing at him for the first time, saw his face +contract itself and turn pale in the moonlight. It may be that the +sight of it affected her, even to the extent of removing some adverse +impression left by the bitter mocking of his self-blame. At any rate, +Benita seemed to change her mind, and sat down again, saying: + +“Go on, if you wish.” + +He bowed slightly, and said: + +“I thank you. I have told you what I _was_ half an hour ago; now, hoping +that you will believe me, I will tell you what I _am_. I am a truly +repentant man, one upon whom a new light has risen. I am not very old, +and I think that underneath it all I have some ability. Opportunity +may still come my way; if it does not, for your sake I will make the +opportunity. I do not believe that you can ever find anyone who would +love you better or care for you more tenderly. I desire to live for you +in the future, more completely even than in the past I have lived for +myself. I do not wish to influence you by personal appeals, but in fact +I stand at the parting of the ways. If you will give yourself to me +I feel as though I might still become a husband of whom you could be +proud--if not, I write ‘Finis’ upon the tombstone of the possibilities +of Robert Seymour. I adore you. You are the one woman with whom I desire +to pass my days; it is you who have always been lacking to my life. I +ask you to be brave, to take the risk of marrying me, although I can see +nothing but poverty ahead of us, for I am an adventurer.” + +“Don’t speak like that,” she said quickly. “We are all of us adventurers +in this world, and I more than you. We have just to consider ourselves, +not what we have or have not.” + +“So be it, Miss Clifford. Then I have nothing more to say; now it is for +you to answer.” + +Just then the sound of the piano and the fiddle in the saloon ceased. +One of the waltzes was over, and some of the dancers came upon deck to +flirt or to cool themselves. One pair, engaged very obviously in the +former occupation, stationed themselves so near to Robert and Benita +that further conversation between them was impossible, and there +proceeded to interchange the remarks common to such occasions. + +For a good ten minutes did they stand thus, carrying on a mock quarrel +as to a dance of which one of them was supposed to have been defrauded, +until Robert Seymour, generally a very philosophical person, could have +slain those innocent lovers. He felt, he knew not why, that his chances +were slipping away from him; that sensation of something bad about to +happen, of which Benita had spoken, spread from her to him. The suspense +grew exasperating, terrible even, nor could it be ended. To ask her to +come elsewhere was under the circumstances not feasible, especially as +he would also have been obliged to request the other pair to make way +for them, and all this time, with a sinking of the heart, he felt that +probably Benita was beating down any tenderness which she might feel +towards him; that when her long-delayed answer did come the chances were +it would be “No.” + +The piano began to play again in the saloon, and the young people, still +squabbling archly, at length prepared to depart. Suddenly there was a +stir upon the bridge, and against the tender sky Robert saw a man dash +forward. Next instant the engine-room bell rang fiercely. He knew the +signal--it was “Stop,” followed at once by other ringings that meant +“Full speed astern.” + +“I wonder what is up?” said the young man to the young woman. + +Before the words had left his lips they knew. There was a sensation as +though all the hull of the great ship had come to a complete standstill, +while the top part of her continued to travel forward; followed by +another sensation still more terrible and sickening in its nature--that +of slipping over something, helplessly, heavily, as a man slips upon ice +or a polished floor. Spars cracked, ropes flew in two with a noise as of +pistol shots. Heavy objects rushed about the deck, travelling forwards +all of them. Benita was hurled from her chair against Robert so that the +two of them rolled into the scuppers. He was unhurt and picked himself +up, but she lay still, and he saw that something had struck her upon the +head, for blood was running down her cheek. He lifted her, and, filled +with black horror and despair--for he thought her gone--pressed his hand +upon her heart. Thank God! it began to beat again--she still lived. + +The music in the saloon had stopped, and for a little while there +was silence. Then of an instant there arose the horrible clamour of +shipwreck; wild-eyed people rushed to and fro aimlessly; here and there +women and children shrieked; a clergyman fell upon his knees and began +to pray. + +This went on for a space, till presently the second officer appeared +and, affecting an unconcerned air, called out that it was all right, the +captain said no one was to be afraid. He added that they were not more +than six miles from the shore, and that the ship would be beached in +half an hour. Indeed, as he spoke the engines, which had been stopped, +commenced to work again, and her head swung round in a wide circle, +pointing to the land. Evidently they had passed over the rock and were +once more in deep water, through which they travelled at a good speed +but with a heavy list to starboard. The pumps got to work also with a +monotonous, clanging beat, throwing out great columns of foaming water +on to the oily sea. Men began to cut the covers off the boats, and to +swing some of them outboard. Such were the things that went on about +them. + +With the senseless Benita clasped to his breast, the blood from her cut +head running down his shoulder, Robert stood still awhile, thinking. +Then he made up his mind. As it chanced, she had a deck cabin, and +thither he forced his way, carrying her tenderly and with patience +through the distracted throng of passengers, for there were five hundred +souls on board that ship. He reached the place to find that it was quite +empty, her cabinmate having fled. Laying Benita upon the lower bunk, +he lit the swinging candle. As soon as it burned up he searched for +the lifebelts and by good fortune found two of them, one of which, not +without great difficulty, he succeeded in fastening round her. Then he +took a sponge and bathed her head with water. There was a great bruise +upon her temple where the block or whatever it was had struck her, and +the blood still flowed; but the wound was not very deep or extensive, +nor, so far as he could discover, did the bone appear to be broken or +driven in. He had good hope that she was only stunned, and would revive +presently. Unable to do more for her, a thought struck him. On the floor +of the cabin, thrown by the shock from the rack, lay her writing case. +He opened it, and taking a piece of paper wrote these words hurriedly in +pencil: + +“You gave me no answer, and it is more than probable that I shall +receive none in this world which one or both of us may be upon the +verge of leaving. In the latter case we can settle the matter +elsewhere--perhaps. In the former, should it be my lot to go and yours +to stay, I hope that you will think kindly of me at times as of one +who loved you truly. Should it be yours to go, then you will never read +these words. Yet if to the dead is given knowledge, be assured that as +you left me so you shall find me, yours and yours alone. Or perhaps we +both may live; I pray so.--S. R. S.” + +Folding up the paper, he undid a button of Benita’s blouse and thrust +it away there, knowing that thus she would certainly find it should she +survive. Then he stepped out on to the deck to see what was happening. +The vessel still steamed, but made slow progress; moreover, the list to +starboard was now so pronounced that it was difficult to stand upright. +On account of it nearly all the passengers were huddled together upon +the port side, having instinctively taken refuge as far as possible +above the water. A man with a white, distraught face staggered towards +him, supporting himself by the bulwarks. It was the captain. For a +moment he paused as though to think, holding to a stanchion. Robert +Seymour saw his opportunity and addressed him. + +“Forgive me,” he said; “I do not like interfering with other people’s +business, but for reasons unconnected with myself I suggest to you that +it would be wise to stop this ship and get out the boats. The sea is +calm; if it is not left till too late there should be no difficulty in +launching them.” + +The man stared at him absently, then said: + +“They won’t hold everybody, Mr. Seymour. I hope to beach her.” + +“At least they will hold some,” he answered, “whereas----” And he +pointed to the water, which by now was almost level with the deck. + +“Perhaps you are right, Mr. Seymour. It doesn’t matter to me, anyway. I +am a ruined man; but the poor passengers--the poor passengers!” And he +scrambled away fiercely towards the bridge like a wounded cat along +the bough of a tree, whence in a few seconds Robert heard him shouting +orders. + +A minute or so afterwards the steamer stopped. Too late the captain +had decided to sacrifice his ship and save those she carried. They were +beginning to get out the boats. Now Robert returned to the cabin where +Benita was lying senseless, and wrapped her up in a cloak and some +blankets. Then, seeing the second lifebelt on the floor, by an +afterthought he put it on, knowing that there was time to spare. Next he +lifted Benita, and feeling sure that the rush would be for the starboard +side, on which the boats were quite near the water, carried her, with +difficulty, for the slope was steep, to the port-cutter, which he knew +would be in the charge of a good man, the second officer, whom he had +seen in command there at Sunday boat-drills. + +Here, as he had anticipated, the crowd was small, since most people +thought that it would not be possible to get this boat down safely to +the water; or if their powers of reflection were gone, instinct told +them so. That skilful seaman, the second officer, and his appointed +crew, were already at work lowering the cutter from the davits. + +“Now,” he said, “women and children first.” + +A number rushed in, and Robert saw that the boat would soon be full. + +“I am afraid,” he said, “that I must count myself a woman as I carry +one,” and by a great effort, holding Benita with one arm, with the other +he let himself down the falls and, assisted by a quartermaster, gained +the boat in safety. + +One or two other men scrambled after him. + +“Push her off,” said the officer; “she can hold no more,” and the ropes +were let go. + +When they were about twelve feet from the ship’s side, from which +they thrust themselves clear with oars, there came a rush of people, +disappointed of places in the starboard boats. A few of the boldest +of these swarmed down the falls, others jumped and fell among them, or +missed and dropped into the sea, or struck upon the sides of the boat +and were killed. Still she reached the water upon an even keel, though +now much overladen. The oars were got out, and they rowed round the bow +of the great ship wallowing in her death-throes, their first idea being +to make for the shore, which was not three miles away. + +This brought them to the starboard side, where they saw a hideous scene. +Hundreds of people seemed to be fighting for room, with the result that +some of the boats were overturned, precipitating their occupants into +the water. Others hung by the prow or the stern, the ropes having jammed +in the davits in the frantic haste and confusion, while from them human +beings dropped one by one. Round others not yet launched a hellish +struggle was in progress, the struggle of men, women, and children +battling for their lives, in which the strong, mad with terror, showed +no mercy to the weak. + +From that mass of humanity, most of them about to perish, went up a +babel of sounds which in its sum shaped itself to one prolonged scream, +such as might proceed from a Titan in his agony. All this beneath a +brooding, moonlit sky, and on a sea as smooth as glass. Upon the ship, +which now lay upon her side, the siren still sent up its yells for +succour, and some brave man continued to fire rockets, which rushed +heavenwards and burst in showers of stars. + +Robert remembered that the last rocket he had seen was fired at an +evening _fête_ for the amusement of the audience. The contrast struck +him as dreadful. He wondered whether there were any power or infernal +population that could be amused by a tragedy such as enacted itself +before his eyes; how it came about also that such a tragedy was +permitted by the merciful Strength in which mankind put their faith. + +The vessel was turning over, compressed air or steam burst up the decks +with loud reports; fragments of wreckage flew into the air. There the +poor captain still clung to the rail of the bridge. Seymour could see +his white face--the moonlight seemed to paint it with a ghastly smile. +The officer in command of their boat shouted to the crew to give way +lest they should be sucked down with the steamer. + +Look! Now she wallowed like a dying whale, the moonrays shone white upon +her bottom, showing the jagged rent made in it by the rock on which she +had struck, and now she was gone. Only a little cloud of smoke and steam +remained to mark where the _Zanzibar_ had been. + + + + +III + +HOW ROBERT CAME ASHORE + +In place of the _Zanzibar_ a great pit on the face of the ocean, in +which the waters boiled and black objects appeared and disappeared. + +“Sit still, for your lives’ sake,” said the officer in a quiet voice; +“the suck is coming.” + +In another minute it came, dragging them downward till the water +trickled over the sides of the boat, and backward towards the pit. But +before ever they reached it the deep had digested its prey, and, save +for the great air-bubbles which burst about them and a mixed, unnatural +swell, was calm again. For the moment they were safe. + +“Passengers,” said the officer, “I am going to put out to sea--at any +rate, till daylight. We may meet a vessel there, and if we try to row +ashore we shall certainly be swamped in the breakers.” + +No one objected; they seemed too stunned to speak, but Robert thought to +himself that the man was wise. They began to move, but before they had +gone a dozen yards something dark rose beside them. It was a piece +of wreckage, and clinging to it a woman, who clasped a bundle to her +breast. More, she was alive, for she began to cry to them to take her +in. + +“Save me and my child!” she cried. “For God’s sake save me!” + +Robert recognized the choking voice; it was that of a young married lady +with whom he had been very friendly, who was going out with her baby to +join her husband in Natal. He stretched out his hand and caught hold of +her, whereon the officer said, heavily: + +“The boat is already overladen. I must warn you that to take more aboard +is not safe.” + +Thereon the passengers awoke from their stupor. + +“Push her off,” cried a voice; “she must take her chance.” And there was +a murmur of approval at the dreadful words. + +“For Christ’s sake--for Christ’s sake!” wailed the drowning woman, who +clung desperately to Robert’s hand. + +“If you try to pull her in, we will throw you overboard,” said the voice +again, and a knife was lifted as though to hack at his arm. Then the +officer spoke once more. + +“This lady cannot come into the boat unless someone goes out of it. I +would myself, but it is my duty to stay. Is there any man here who will +make place for her?” + +But all the men there--seven of them, besides the crew--hung their heads +and were silent. + +“Give way,” said the officer in the same heavy voice; “she will drop off +presently.” + +While the words passed his lips Robert seemed to live a year. Here was +an opportunity of atonement for his idle and luxurious life. An hour ago +he would have taken it gladly, but now--now, with Benita senseless on +his breast, and that answer still locked in her sleeping heart? Yet +Benita would approve of such a death as this, and even if she loved him +not in life, would learn to love his memory. In an instant his mind was +made up, and he was speaking rapidly. + +“Thompson,” he said to the officer, “if I go, will you swear to take her +in and her child?” + +“Certainly, Mr. Seymour.” + +“Then lay to; I am going. If any of you live, tell this lady how I +died,” and he pointed to Benita, “and say I thought that she would wish +it.” + +“She shall be told,” said the officer again, “and saved, too, if I can +do it.” + +“Hold Mrs. Jeffreys, then, till I am out of this. I’ll leave my coat to +cover her.” + +A sailor obeyed, and with difficulty Robert wrenched free his hand. + +Very deliberately he pressed Benita to his breast and kissed her on the +forehead, then let her gently slide on to the bottom of the boat. Next +he slipped off his overcoat and slowly rolled himself over the gunwale +into the sea. + +“Now,” he said, “pull Mrs. Jeffreys in.” + +“God bless you; you are a brave man,” said Thompson. “I shall remember +you if I live a hundred years.” + +But no one else said anything; perhaps they were all too much ashamed, +even then. + +“I have only done my duty,” Seymour answered from the water. “How far is +it to the shore?” + +“About three miles,” shouted Thompson. “But keep on that plank, or you +will never live through the rollers. Good-bye.” + +“Good-bye,” answered Robert. + +Then the boat passed away from him and soon vanished in the misty face +of the deep. + +Resting on the plank which had saved the life of Mrs. Jeffreys, Robert +Seymour looked about him and listened. Now and again he heard a faint, +choking scream uttered by some drowning wretch, and a few hundred yards +away caught sight of a black object which he thought might be a boat. If +so, he reflected that it must be full. Moreover, he could not overtake +it. No; his only chance was to make for the shore. He was a strong +swimmer, and happily the water was almost as warm as milk. There seemed +to be no reason why he should not reach it, supported as he was by a +lifebelt, if the sharks would leave him alone, which they might, as +there was plenty for them to feed on. The direction he knew well enough, +for now in the great silence of the sea he could hear the boom of the +mighty rollers breaking on the beach. + +Ah, those rollers! He remembered how that very afternoon Benita and he +had watched them through his field glass spouting up against the cruel +walls of rock, and wondered that when the ocean was so calm they had +still such power. Now, should he live to reach them, he was doomed to +match himself against that power. Well, the sooner he did so the sooner +it would be over, one way or the other. This was in his favour: the tide +had turned, and was flowing shorewards. Indeed, he had little to do but +to rest upon his plank, which he placed crosswise beneath his breast, +and steered himself with his feet. Even thus he made good progress, +nearly a mile an hour perhaps. He could have gone faster had he swum, +but he was saving his strength. + +It was a strange journey upon that silent sea beneath those silent +stars, and strange thoughts came into Robert’s soul. He wondered whether +Benita would live and what she would say. Perhaps, however, she was +already dead, and he would meet her presently. He wondered if he were +doomed to die, and whether this sacrifice of his would be allowed to +atone for his past errors. He hoped so, and put up a petition to that +effect, for himself and for Benita, and for all the poor people who had +gone before, hurled from their pleasure into the halls of Death. + +So he floated on while the boom of the breakers grew ever nearer, +companioned by his wild, fretful thoughts, till at length what he took +to be a shark appeared quite close to him, and in the urgency of the +moment he gave up wondering. It proved to be only a piece of wood, but +later on a real shark did come, for he saw its back fin. However, this +cruel creature was either gorged or timid, for when he splashed upon the +water and shouted, it went away, to return no more. + +Now, at length, Robert entered upon the deep hill and valley swell which +preceded the field of the rollers. Suddenly he shot down a smooth slope, +and without effort of his own found himself borne up an opposing steep, +from the crest of which he had a view of white lines of foam, and beyond +them of a dim and rocky shore. At one spot, a little to his right, the +foam seemed thinner and the line of cliff to be broken, as though here +there was a cleft. For this cleft, then, he steered his plank, taking +the swell obliquely, which by good fortune the set of the tide enabled +him to do without any great exertion. + +The valleys grew deeper, and the tops of the opposing ridges were +crested with foam. He had entered the rollers, and the struggle for life +began. Before him they rushed solemn and mighty. Viewed from some safe +place even the sight of these combers is terrible, as any who have +watched them from this coast, or from that of the Island of Ascension, +can bear witness. What their aspect was to this shipwrecked man, +supported by a single plank, may therefore be imagined, seen, as he +saw them, in the mysterious moonlight and in utter loneliness. Yet his +spirit rose to meet the dread emergency; if he were to die, he would die +fighting. He had grown cold and tired, but now the chill and weariness +left him; he felt warm and strong. From the crest of one of the high +rollers he thought he saw that about half a mile away from him a little +river ran down the centre of the gorge, and for the mouth of this river +he laid his course. + +At first all went well. He was borne up the seas; he slid down the seas +in a lather of white foam. Presently the rise and fall grew steeper, +and the foam began to break over his head. Robert could no longer guide +himself; he must go as he was carried. Then in an instant he was carried +into a hell of waters where, had it not been for his lifebelt and the +plank, he must have been beaten down and have perished. As it was, now +he was driven into the depths, and now he emerged upon their surface to +hear their seething hiss around him, and above it all a continuous boom +as of great guns--the boom of the breaking seas. + +The plank was almost twisted from his grasp, but he clung to it +desperately, although its edges tore his arms. When the rollers broke +over him he held his breath, and when he was tossed skywards on their +curves, drew it again in quick, sweet gasps. Now he sat upon the very +brow of one of them as a merman might; now he dived like a dolphin, +and now, just as his senses were leaving him, his feet touched bottom. +Another moment and Robert was being rolled along that bottom with a +weight on him like the weight of mountains. The plank was rent from him, +but his cork jacket brought him up. The backwash drew him with it into +deeper water, where he lay helpless and despairing, for he no longer had +any strength to struggle against his doom. + +Then it was that there came a mighty roller, bigger than any that he had +seen--such a one as on that coast the Kaffirs call “a father of waves.” + It caught him in the embrace of its vast green curve. It bore him +forward as though he were but a straw, far forward over the stretch of +cruel rocks. It broke in thunder, dashing him again upon the stones +and sand of the little river bar, rolling him along with its resistless +might, till even that might was exhausted, and its foam began to return +seawards, sucking him with it. + +Robert’s mind was almost gone, but enough of it remained to tell him +that if once more he was dragged into the deep water he must be lost. As +the current haled him along he gripped at the bottom with his hands, +and by the mercy of Heaven they closed on something. It may have been +a tree-stump embedded there, or a rock--he never knew. At least, it was +firm, and to it he hung despairingly. Would that rush never cease? His +lungs were bursting; he must let go! Oh! the foam was thinning; his head +was above it now; now it had departed, leaving him like a stranded fish +upon the shingle. For half a minute or more he lay there gasping, then +looked behind him to see another comber approaching through the +gloom. He struggled to his feet, fell, rose again, and ran, or rather, +staggered forward with that tigerish water hissing at his heels. +Forward, still forward, till he was beyond its reach--yes, on dry +sand. Then his vital forces failed him; one of his legs gave way, and, +bleeding from a hundred hurts, he fell heavily onto his face, and there +was still. + +The boat in which Benita lay, being so deep in the water, proved +very hard to row against the tide, for the number of its passengers +encumbered the oarsmen. After a while a light off land breeze sprang +up, as here it often does towards morning; and the officer, Thompson, +determined to risk hoisting the sail. Accordingly this was done--with +some difficulty, for the mast had to be drawn out and shipped--although +the women screamed as the weight of the air bent their frail craft over +till the gunwale was almost level with the water. + +“Anyone who moves shall be thrown overboard!” said the officer, who +steered, after which they were quiet. + +Now they made good progress seawards, but the anxieties of those who +knew were very great, since the wind showed signs of rising, and if any +swell should spring up that crowded cutter could scarcely hope to live. +In fact, two hours later they were forced to lower the sail again and +drift, waiting for the dawn. Mr. Thompson strove to cheer them, saying +that now they were in the track of vessels, and if they could see none +when the light came, he would run along the shore in the hope of finding +a place free of breakers where they might land. If they did not inspire +hope, at least his words calmed them, and they sat in heavy silence, +watching the sky. + +At length it grew grey, and then, with a sudden glory peculiar to South +Africa, the great red sun arose and began to dispel the mist from the +surface of the sea. Half an hour more and this was gone, and now the +bright rays brought life back into their chilled frames as they stared +at each other to see which of their company were still left alive. They +even asked for food, and biscuit was given to them with water. + +All this while Benita remained unconscious. Indeed, one callous fellow, +who had been using her body as a footstool, said that she must be dead, +and had better be thrown overboard, as it would lighten the boat. + +“If you throw that lady into the sea, living or dead,” said Mr. +Thompson, with an ominous lift of his eye, “you go with her, Mr. Batten. +Remember who brought her here and how he died.” + +Then Mr. Batten held his peace, while Thompson stood up and scanned the +wide expanse of sea. Presently he whispered to a sailor near him, who +also stood up, looked, and nodded. + +“That will be the other Line’s intermediate boat,” he said, and the +passengers, craning their heads round, saw far away to the right a +streak of smoke upon the horizon. Orders were given, a little corner of +sail was hoisted, with a white cloth of some sort tied above it, and the +oars were got out. Once more the cutter moved forward, bearing to the +left in the hope of intercepting the steamer. + +She came on with terrible swiftness, and they who had miles of water to +cover, dared hoist no more sail in that breeze. In half an hour she was +nearly opposite to them, and they were still far away. A little more +sail was let out, driving them through the water at as quick a rate +as they could venture to go. The steamer was passing three miles or so +away, and black despair took hold of them. Now the resourceful Thompson, +without apologies, undressed, and removing the white shirt that he had +worn at the dance, bade a sailor to tie it to an oar and wave it to and +fro. + +Still the steamer went on, until presently they heard her siren going, +and saw that she was putting about. + +“She has seen us,” said Thompson. “Thank God, all of you, for there is +wind coming up. Pull down that sail; we shan’t need it any more.” + +Half an hour later, with many precautions, for the wind he prophesied +was already troubling the sea and sending little splashes of water over +the stern of their deeply laden boat, they were fast to a line thrown +from the deck of the three thousand ton steamer _Castle_, bound for +Natal. Then, with a rattle, down came the accommodation ladder, and +strong-armed men, standing on its grating, dragged them one by one from +the death to which they had been so near. The last to be lifted up, +except Thompson, was Benita, round whom it was necessary to reeve a +rope. + +“Any use?” asked the officer on the grating as he glanced at her quiet +form. + +“Can’t say; I hope so,” answered Thompson. “Call your doctor.” And +gently enough she was borne up the ship’s side. + +They wanted to cast off the boat, but Thompson remonstrated, and in the +end that also was dragged to deck. Meanwhile the news had spread, +and the awakened passengers of the _Castle_, clad in pyjamas, +dressing-gowns, and even blankets, were crowding round the poor +castaways or helping them to their cabins. + +“I am a teetotaller,” said second officer Thompson when he had made a +brief report to the captain of the _Castle_, “but if anyone will stand +me a whiskey and soda I shall be obliged to him.” + + + + +IV + +MR. CLIFFORD + +Although the shock of the blow she had received upon her head was +sufficient to make her insensible for so many hours, Benita’s injuries +were not of a really serious nature, for as it happened the falling +block, or whatever it may have been, had hit her forehead slantwise, and +not full, to which accident she owed it that, although the skin was +torn and the scalp bruised, her skull had escaped fracture. Under proper +medical care her senses soon came back to her, but as she was quite +dazed and thought herself still on board the _Zanzibar_, the doctor +considered it wise to preserve her in that illusion for a while. So +after she had swallowed some broth he gave her a sleeping draught, the +effects of which she did not shake off till the following morning. + +Then she came to herself completely, and was astonished to feel the pain +in her head, which had been bandaged, and to see a strange stewardess +sitting by her with a cup of beef-tea in her hand. + +“Where am I? Is it a dream?” she asked. + +“Drink this and I will tell you,” answered the stewardess. + +Benita obeyed, for she felt hungry, then repeated her question. + +“Your steamer was shipwrecked,” said the stewardess, “and a great many +poor people were drowned, but you were saved in a boat. Look, there are +your clothes; they were never in the water.” + +“Who carried me into the boat?” asked Benita in a low voice. + +“A gentleman, they say, Miss, who had wrapped you in a blanket and put a +lifebelt on you.” + +Now Benita remembered everything that happened before the darkness +fell--the question to which she had given no answer, the young couple +who stood flirting by her--all came back to her. + +“Was Mr. Seymour saved?” she whispered, her face grey with dread. + +“I dare say, Miss,” answered the stewardess evasively. “But there is no +gentleman of that name aboard this ship.” + +At that moment the doctor came in, and him, too, she plied with +questions. But having learned the story of Robert’s self-sacrifice from +Mr. Thompson and the others, he would give her no answer, for he guessed +how matters had stood between them, and feared the effects of the shock. +All he could say was that he hoped Mr. Seymour had escaped in some other +boat. + +It was not until the third morning that Benita was allowed to learn +the truth, which indeed it was impossible to conceal any longer. Mr. +Thompson came to her cabin and told her everything, while she listened +silently, horrified, amazed. + +“Miss Clifford,” he said, “I think it was one of the bravest things that +a man ever did. On the ship I always thought him rather a head-in-air +kind of swell, but he was a splendid fellow, and I pray God that he has +lived, as the lady and child for whom he offered himself up have done, +for they are both well again.” + +“Yes,” she repeated after him mechanically, “splendid fellow indeed, +and,” she added, with a strange flash of conviction, “I believe that he +_is_ still alive. If he were dead I should know it.” + +“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Mr. Thompson, who believed the +exact contrary. + +“Listen,” she went on. “I will tell you something. When that dreadful +accident occurred Mr. Seymour had just asked me to marry him, and I was +going to answer that I would--because I love him. I believe that I shall +still give him that answer.” + +Mr. Thompson replied again that he hoped so, which, being as honest and +tender-hearted as he was brave and capable, he did most earnestly; but +in his heart he reflected that her answer would not be given this side +of the grave. Then, as he had been deputed to do, he handed her the note +which had been found in the bosom of her dress, and, able to bear no +more of this painful scene, hurried from the cabin. She read it greedily +twice, and pressed it to her lips, murmuring: + +“Yes, I will think kindly of you, Robert Seymour, kindly as woman can of +man, and now or afterwards you shall have your answer, if you still wish +for it. Whenever you come or wherever I go, it shall be ready for you.” + +That afternoon, when she was more composed, Mrs. Jeffreys came to see +Benita, bringing her baby with her. The poor woman was still pale and +shaken, but the child had taken no hurt at all from its immersion in +that warm water. + +“What can you think of me?” she said, falling on her knees by Benita. +“But oh! I did not know what I was doing. It was terror and my child,” + and she kissed the sleeping infant passionately. “Also I did not +understand at the time--I was too dazed. And--that hero--he gave his +life for me when the others wished to beat me off with oars. Yes, his +blood is upon my hands--he who died that I and my child might live.” + +Benita looked at her and answered, very gently: + +“Perhaps he did not die after all. Do not grieve, for if he did it was a +very glorious death, and I am prouder of him than I could have been +had he lived on like the others--who wished to beat you off with oars. +Whatever is, is by God’s Will, and doubtless for the best. At the least, +you and your child will be restored to your husband, though it cost me +one who would have been--my husband.” + +That evening Benita came upon the deck and spoke with the other ladies +who were saved, learning every detail that she could gather. But to none +of the men, except to Mr. Thompson, would she say a single word, and +soon, seeing how the matter stood, they hid themselves away from her as +they had already done from Mrs. Jeffreys. + +The _Castle_ had hung about the scene of the shipwreck for thirty hours, +and rescued one other boatload of survivors, also a stoker clinging to +a piece of wreckage. But with the shore she had been unable to +communicate, for the dreaded wind had risen, and the breakers were quite +impassable to any boat. To a passing steamer bound for Port Elizabeth, +however, she had reported the terrible disaster, which by now was known +all over the world, together with the names of those whom she had picked +up in the boats. + +On the night of the day of Benita’s interview with Mrs. Jeffreys, the +_Castle_ arrived off Durban and anchored, since she was too big a vessel +to cross the bar as it was in those days. At dawn the stewardess awoke +Benita from the uneasy sleep in which she lay, to tell her that an old +gentleman had come off in the tug and wished to see her; for fear of +exciting false hopes she was very careful to add that word “old.” With +her help Benita dressed herself, and as the sun rose, flooding the +Berea, the Point, the white town and fair Natal beyond with light, she +went on to the deck, and there, leaning over the bulwark, saw a thin, +grey-bearded man of whom after all these years the aspect was still +familiar. + +A curious thrill went through her as she looked at him leaning there +lost in thought. After all, he was her father, the man to whom she owed +her presence upon this bitter earth, this place of terrors and delights, +of devastation and hope supernal. Perhaps, too, he had been as much +sinned against as sinning. She stepped up to him and touched him on the +shoulder. + +“Father,” she said. + +He turned round with all the quickness of a young man, for about him +there was a peculiar agility which his daughter had inherited. Like his +mind, his body was still nimble. + +“My darling,” he said, “I should have known your voice anywhere. It has +haunted my sleep for years. My darling, thank you for coming back to me, +and thank God for preserving you when so many were lost.” Then he threw +his arms about her and kissed her. + +She shrank from him a little, for by inadvertence he had pressed upon +the wound in her forehead. + +“Forgive me,” she said; “it is my head. It was injured, you know.” + +Then he saw the bandage about her brow, and was very penitent. + +“They did not tell me that you had been hurt, Benita,” he exclaimed in +his light, refined voice, one of the stamps of that gentility of blood +and breeding whereof all his rough years and errors had been unable to +deprive him. “They only told me that you were saved. It is part of my +ill-fortune that at our first moment of greeting I should give you pain, +who have caused you so much already.” + +Benita felt that the words were an apology for the past, and her heart +was touched. + +“It is nothing,” she answered. “You did not know or mean it.” + +“No, dear, I never knew or meant it. Believe me, I was not a willing +sinner, only a weak one. You are beautiful, Benita--far more so than I +expected.” + +“What,” she answered smiling, “with this bandage round my head? Well, +in your eyes, perhaps.” But inwardly she thought to herself that the +description would be more applicable to her father, who in truth, +notwithstanding his years, was wonderfully handsome, with his quick blue +eyes, mobile face, gentle mouth with the wistful droop at the corners so +like her own, and grey beard. How, she wondered, could this be the man +who had struck her mother. Then she remembered him as he had been years +before when he was a slave to liquor, and knew that the answer was +simple. + +“Tell me about your escape, love,” he said, patting her hand with his +thin fingers. “You don’t know what I’ve suffered. I was waiting at +the Royal Hotel here, when the cable came announcing the loss of the +_Zanzibar_ and all on board. For the first time for many a year I drank +spirits to drown my grief--don’t be afraid, dear--for the first time and +the last. Then afterwards came another cable giving the names of those +who were known to be saved, and--thank God, oh! thank God--yours among +them,” and he gasped at the recollection of that relief. + +“Yes,” she said; “I suppose I should thank--Him--and another. Have you +heard the story about--how Mr. Seymour saved me, I mean?” + +“Some of it. While you were dressing yourself, I have been talking to +the officer who was in command of your boat. He was a brave man, Benita, +and I am sorry to tell you he is gone.” + +She grasped a stanchion and clung there, staring at him with a wild, +white face. + +“How do you know that, Father?” + +Mr. Clifford drew a copy of the _Natal Mercury_ of the previous day from +the pocket of his ulster, and while she waited in an agony he hunted +through the long columns descriptive of the loss of the _Zanzibar_. +Presently he came to the paragraph he sought, and read it aloud to her. +It ran: + +“The searchers on the coast opposite the scene of the shipwreck report +that they met a Kaffir who was travelling along the seashore, who +produced a gold watch which he said he had taken from the body of a +white man that he found lying on the sand at the mouth of the Umvoli +River. Inside the watch is engraved, ‘To Seymour Robert Seymour, from +his uncle, on his twenty-first birthday.’ The name of Mr. Seymour +appears as a first-class passenger to Durban by the _Zanzibar_. He was +a member of an old English family in Lincolnshire. This was his second +journey to South Africa, which he visited some years ago with his +brother on a big-game shooting expedition. All who knew him then will +join with us in deploring his loss. Mr. Seymour was a noted shot and +an English gentleman of the best stamp. He was last seen by one of the +survivors of the catastrophe, carrying Miss Clifford, the daughter of +the well-known Natal pioneer of that name, into a boat, but as this +young lady is reported to have been saved, and as he entered the boat +with her, no explanation is yet forthcoming as to how he came to his sad +end.” + +“I fear that is clear enough,” said Mr. Clifford, as he folded up his +paper. + +“Yes, clear enough,” she repeated in a strained voice. “And +yet--yet--oh! Father, he had just asked me to marry him, and I can’t +believe that he is dead before I had time to answer.” + +“Good Heavens!” said the old man, “they never told me that. It is +dreadfully sad. God help you, my poor child! There is nothing more to +say except that he was only one among three hundred who have gone with +him. Be brave now, before all these people. Look--here comes the tug.” + + +The following week was very much of a blank to Benita. When they reached +shore some old friends of her father’s took her and him to their house, +a quiet place upon the Berea. Here, now that the first excitement of +rescue and grief was over, the inevitable reaction set in, bringing with +it weakness so distressing that the doctor insisted upon her going to +bed, where she remained for the next five days. With the healing up of +the wound in her head her strength came back to her at last, but it +was a very sad Benita who crept from her room one afternoon on to the +verandah and looked out at the cruel sea, peaceful now as the sky above. + +Her father, who had nursed her tenderly during these dark days, came and +sat by her, taking her hand in his. + +“This is capital,” he said, glancing at her anxiously. “You are getting +quite yourself again.” + +“I shall never be myself again,” she answered. “My old self is dead, +although the outside of me has recovered. Father, I suppose that it is +wrong, but I wish that I were dead too. I wish that he had taken me with +him when he jumped into the sea to lighten the boat.” + +“Don’t speak like that,” he broke in hastily. “Of course I know that I +am not much to you--how can I be after all that is past? But I love you, +dear, and if I were left quite alone again----” And he broke off. + +“You shall not be left alone if I can help it,” she replied, looking at +the old man with her dark and tender eyes. “We have only each other in +the world now, have we? The rest have gone, never to return.” + +He threw his arms about her, and, drawing her to him, kissed her +passionately. + +“If only you could learn to love me!” he said. + +“I do love you,” she answered, “who now shall never love any other man +upon the earth.” + +This was the beginning of a deep affection which sprang up between Mr. +Clifford and his daughter, and continued to the end. + +“Is there any news?” she asked a little later. + +“None--none about him. The tide took his body away, no doubt, after the +Kaffir had gone. I remember him well now. He was a fine young man, and +it comes into my mind that when I said good-bye to him above those old +ruins, I wished that I had a son like that. And to think that he went +so near to becoming a son to me! Well, the grass must bend when the wind +blows, as the natives say.” + +“I am glad that you knew him,” she answered simply. + +Then they began talking about other matters. He told her that all the +story had become known, and that people spoke of Robert Seymour as “the +hero”; also that there was a great deal of curiosity about her. + +“Then let us get away as soon as we can,” she said nervously. “But, +Father, where are we going?” + +“That will be for you to decide, love. Listen, now; this is my position. +I have been quite steady for years, and worked hard, with the result +that I and my partner have a fine farm in the Transvaal, on the high +land near Lake Chrissie, out Wakkerstroom way. We breed horses there, +and have done very well with them. I have £1,500 saved, and the farm +brings us in quite £600 a year beyond the expenses. But it is a lonely +place, with only a few Boers about, although they are good fellows +enough. You might not care to live there with no company.” + +“I don’t think that I should mind,” she answered, smiling. + +“Not now, but by-and-by you would when you know what it is like. Now I +might sell my share in the farm to my partner, who, I think, would buy +it, or I might trust to him to send me a part of the profits, which +perhaps he would not. Then, if you wish it, we could live in or near +one of the towns, or even, as you have an income of your own, go home to +England, if that is your will.” + +“Is it your will?” she asked. + +He shook his head. “No; all my life is here. Also, I have something to +find before I die--for your sake, dear.” + +“Do you mean up among those ruins?” she asked, looking at him curiously. + +“Yes. So you know about it?” he answered, with a flash of his blue eyes. +“Oh! of course, Seymour told you. Yes, I mean among the ruins--but I +will tell you that story another time--not here, not here. What do you +wish to do, Benita? Remember, I am in your hands; I will obey you in all +things.” + +“Not to stop in a town and not to go to England,” she replied, while he +hung eagerly upon her words, “for this has become my holy land. Father, +I will go with you to your farm; there I can be quiet, you and I +together.” + +“Yes,” he answered rather uneasily; “but, you see, Benita, we shall not +be quite alone there. My partner, Jacob Meyer, lives with me.” + +“Jacob Meyer? Ah! I remember,” and she winced. “He is a German, is he +not--and odd?” + +“German Jew, I imagine, and very odd. Should have made his fortune a +dozen times over, and yet has never done anything. Too unpractical, too +visionary, with all his brains and scheming. Not a good man, Benita, +although he suits me, and, for the matter of that, under our agreement I +cannot get rid of him.” + +“How did he become your partner?” she asked. + +“Oh! a good many years ago he turned up at the place with a doleful +story. Said that he had been trading among the Zulus; he was what we +call a ‘smouse’ out here, and got into a row with them, I don’t +know how. The end of it was that they burned his waggon, looted his +trade-goods and oxen, and killed his servants. They would have killed +him too, only, according to his own account, he escaped in a very queer +fashion.” + +“How?” + +“Well, he says by mesmerising the chief and making the man lead him +through his followers. An odd story enough, but I can quite believe +it of Jacob. He worked for me for six months, and showed himself very +clever. Then one night, I remember it was a few days after I had told +him of the story of the Portuguese treasure in Matabeleland, he produced +£500 in Bank of England notes out of the lining of his waistcoat, and +offered to buy a half interest in the farm. Yes, £500! Although for +all those months I had believed him to be a beggar. Well, as he was so +_slim_, and better than no company in that lonely place, in the end I +accepted. We have done well since, except for the expedition after the +treasure which we did not get, although we more than paid our expenses +out of the ivory we bought. But next time we shall succeed, I am sure,” + he added with enthusiasm, “that is, if we can persuade those Makalanga +to let us search on the mountain.” + +Benita smiled. + +“I think you had better stick to the horsebreeding,” she said. + +“You shall judge when you hear the story. But you have been brought up +in England; will you not be afraid to go to Lake Chrissie?” + +“Afraid of what?” she asked. + +“Oh! of the loneliness, and of Jacob Meyer.” + +“I was born on the veld, Father, and I have always hated London. As for +your odd friend, Mr. Meyer, I am not afraid of any man on earth. I have +done with men. At the least I will try the place and see how I get on.” + +“Very well,” answered her father with a sigh of relief. “You can always +come back, can’t you?” + +“Yes,” she said indifferently. “I suppose that I can always come back.” + + + + +V + +JACOB MEYER + +More than three weeks had gone by when one morning Benita, who slept +upon the cartel or hide-strung bed in the waggon, having dressed herself +as best she could in that confined place, thrust aside the curtain and +seated herself upon the voorkisse, or driving-box. The sun was not yet +up, and the air was cold with frost, for they were on the Transvaal +high-veld at the end of winter. Even through her thick cloak Benita +shivered and called to the driver of the waggon, who also acted as cook, +and whose blanket-draped form she could see bending over a fire into +which he was blowing life, to make haste with the coffee. + +“By and by, Missie--by and by,” he answered, coughing the rank smoke +from his lungs. “Kettle no sing yet, and fire black as hell.” + +Benita reflected that popular report painted this locality red, but +without entering into argument sat still upon the chest waiting till the +water boiled and her father appeared. + +Presently he emerged from under the side flap of the waggon where he +slept, and remarking that it was really too cold to think of washing, +climbed to her side by help of the disselboom, and kissed her. + +“How far are we now from Rooi Krantz, Father?” she asked, for that was +the name of Mr. Clifford’s farm. + +“About forty miles, dear. The waggon cannot make it to-night with these +two sick oxen, but after the midday outspan we will ride on, and be +there by sundown. I am afraid you are tired of this trekking.” + +“No,” she answered. “I like it very much; it is so restful, and I sleep +sound upon that cartel. I feel as though I should like to trek on for +the rest of my life.” + +“So you shall if you wish, dear, for whole months. South Africa is big, +and when the grass grows, if you still wish it, we will take a long +journey.” + +She smiled, but made no answer, knowing that he was thinking of the +place so far away where he believed that once the Portuguese had buried +gold. + +The kettle was singing now merrily enough, and Hans, the cook, lifting +it from the fire in triumph--for his blowing exertions had been +severe--poured into it a quantity of ground coffee from an old mustard +tin. Then, having stirred the mixture with a stick, he took a red +ember from the fire and dropped it into the kettle, a process which, as +travellers in the veld know well, has a clearing effect upon the coffee. +Next he produced pannikins, and handed them up with a pickle jar full +of sugar to Mr. Clifford, upon the waggon chest. Milk they had none, yet +that coffee tasted a great deal better than it looked; indeed, Benita +drank two cups of it to warm herself and wash down the hard biscuit. +Before the day was over glad enough was she that she had done so. + +The sun was rising; huge and red it looked seen through the clinging +mist, and, their breakfast finished, Mr. Clifford gave orders that the +oxen, which were filling themselves with the dry grass near at hand, +should be got up and inspanned. The voorlooper, a Zulu boy, who had left +them for a little while to share the rest of the coffee with Hans, rose +from his haunches with a grunt, and departed to fetch them. A minute or +two later Hans ceased from his occupation of packing up the things, and +said in a low voice: + +“_Kek!_ Baas”--that is “Look!” + +Following the line of his outstretched hand, Benita and her father +perceived, not more than a hundred yards away from them, a great troop +of wilderbeeste, or gnu, travelling along a ridge, and pausing now and +again to indulge in those extraordinary gambols which cause the Boers to +declare that these brutes have a worm in their brains. + +“Give me my rifle, Hans,” said Mr. Clifford. “We want meat.” + +By the time that the Westley-Richards was drawn from its case and +loaded, only one buck remained, for, having caught sight of the waggon, +it turned to stare at it suspiciously. Mr. Clifford aimed and fired. +Down went the buck, then springing to its feet again, vanished behind +the ridge. Mr. Clifford shook his head sadly. + +“I don’t often do that sort of thing, my dear, but the light is still +very bad. Still, he’s hit. What do you say? Shall we get on the horses +and catch him? A canter would warm you.” + +Benita, who was tender-hearted, reflected that it would be kinder to +put the poor creature out of its pain, and nodded her head. Five minutes +later they were cantering together up the rise, Mr. Clifford having +first ordered the waggon to trek on till they rejoined it, and slipped a +packet of cartridges into his pocket. Beyond the rise lay a wide stretch +of marshy ground, bordered by another rise half a mile or more away, +from the crest of which--for now the air was clear enough--they saw the +wounded bull standing. On they went after him, but before they could +come within shot, he had moved forward once more, for he was only +lightly hurt in the flank, and guessed whence his trouble came. + +Again and again did he retreat as they drew near, until at length, just +as Mr. Clifford was about to dismount to risk a long shot, the beast +took to its heels in earnest. + +“Come on,” he said; “don’t let’s be beat,” for by this time the hunter +was alive in him. + +So off they went at a gallop, up slopes and down slopes that reminded +Benita of the Bay of Biscay in a storm, across half-dried vleis that in +the wet season were ponds, through stony ground and patches of ant-bear +holes in which they nearly came to grief. For five miles at least the +chase went on, since at the end of winter the wilderbeeste was thin and +could gallop well, notwithstanding its injury, faster even than their +good horses. At last, rising a ridge, they found whither it was going, +for suddenly they were in the midst of vast herds of game, thousands and +tens of thousands of them stretching as far as the eye could reach. + +It was a wondrous sight that now, alas! will be seen no more--at any +rate upon the Transvaal veld; wilderbeeste, blesbok, springbok, in +countless multitudes, and amongst them a few quagga and hartebeeste. +With a sound like that of thunder, their flashing myriad hoofs casting +up clouds of dust from the fire-blackened veld, the great herds +separated at the appearance of their enemy, man. This way and that they +went in groups and long brown lines, leaving the wounded and exhausted +wilderbeeste behind them, so that presently he was the sole tenant of +that great cup of land. + +At him they rode till Mr. Clifford, who was a little ahead of his +daughter, drew almost alongside. Then the poor maddened brute tried its +last shift. Stopping suddenly, it wheeled round and charged head down. +Mr. Clifford, as it came, held out his rifle in his right hand and fired +at a hazard. The bullet passed through the bull, but could not stop its +charge. Its horns, held low, struck the forelegs of the horse, and next +instant horse, man, and wilderbeeste rolled on the veld together. + +Benita, who was fifty yards behind, uttered a little cry of fear, but +before ever she reached him, her father had risen laughing, for he was +quite unhurt. The horse, too, was getting up, but the bull could rise +no more. It struggled to its forefeet, uttered a kind of sobbing groan, +stared round wildly, and rolled over, dead. + +“I never knew a wilderbeeste charge like that before,” said Mr. +Clifford. “Confound it! I believe my horse is lamed.” + +Lamed it was, indeed, where the bull had struck the foreleg, though, +as it chanced, not badly. Having tied a handkerchief to the horn of the +buck in order to scare away the vultures, and thrown some tufts of dry +grass upon its body, which he proposed, if possible, to fetch or send +for, Mr. Clifford mounted his lame horse and headed for the waggon. But +they had galloped farther than they thought, and it was midday before +they came to what they took to be the road. As there was no spoor upon +it, they followed this track backwards, expecting to find the waggon +outspanned, but although they rode for mile upon mile, no waggon could +they see. Then, realizing their mistake, they retraced their steps, and +leaving this path at the spot where they had found it, struck off again +to the right. + +Meanwhile, the sky was darkening, and at about three o’clock in the +afternoon a thunderstorm broke over them accompanied by torrents of icy +rain, the first fall of the spring, and a bitter wind which chilled them +through. More, after the heavy rain came drizzle and a thick mist that +deepened as evening approached. + +Now their plight was very wretched. Lost, starved, soaked to the skin, +with tired horses one of which was lame, they wandered about on the +lonely veld. Only one stroke of fortune came to them. As the sun set, +for a few moments its rays pierced the mist, telling them in what +direction they should go. Turning their horses, they headed for it, +and so rode on until the darkness fell. Then they halted a while, +but feeling that if they stood still in that horrible cold they would +certainly perish before morning, once more pushed on again. By now Mr. +Clifford’s horse was almost too lame to ride, so he led it, walking +at his daughter’s side, and reproaching himself bitterly for his +foolishness in having brought her into this trouble. + +“It doesn’t matter, Father,” she answered wearily, for she was very +tired. “Nothing matters; one may as well die upon the veld as in the sea +or anywhere else.” + +On they plodded, they knew not whither. Benita fell asleep upon her +saddle, and was awakened once by a hyena howling quite close to them, +and once by her horse falling to its knees. + +“What is the time?” she said at last. + +Her father struck a match and looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock; +they had been fifteen hours away from the waggon and without food. At +intervals Mr. Clifford, who had remounted, fired his rifle. Now there +was but one cartridge left, and having caught sight of his daughter’s +exhausted face by the light of the match, he fired this also, though in +that desperate wilderness there was little hope of its bringing succour. + +“Shall we stop or go on?” he asked. + +“I do not care,” she answered. “Only if I stop I think it will be for +ever. Let us go on.” + +Now the rain had ceased, but the mist was as dense as before. Also +they seemed to have got among bush, for wet leaves brushed their faces. +Utterly exhausted they stumbled forward, till suddenly Benita felt her +horse stop as though a hand had seized its bridle, and heard a man’s +voice, speaking with a foreign accent, say: + +“Mein Gott! Where are you going?” + +“I wish I knew,” she answered, like one in a dream. + +At this instant the moon rose above the mists, and Benita saw Jacob +Meyer for the first time. + +In that light his appearance was not unpleasing. A man of about forty +years of age, not over tall, slight and active in build, with a pointed +black beard, regular, Semitic features, a complexion of an ivory pallor +which even the African sun did not seem to tan, and dark, lustrous eyes +that appeared, now to sleep, and now to catch the fire of the thoughts +within. Yet, weary though she was, there was something in the man’s +personality which repelled and alarmed Benita, something wild and cruel. +She felt that he was filled with unsatisfied ambitions and desires, and +that to attain to them he would shrink at nothing. In a moment he was +speaking again in tones that compelled her attention. + +“It was a good thought that brought me here to look for you. No; not a +thought--what do you call it?--an instinct. I think your mind must have +spoken to my mind, and called me to save you. See now, Clifford, my +friend, where you have led your daughter. See, see!” And he pointed +downwards. + +They leaned forward and stared. There, immediately beneath them, was a +mighty gulf whereof the moonlight did not reveal the bottom. + +“You are no good veld traveller, Clifford, my friend; one more step of +those silly beasts, and down below there would have been two red heaps +with bits of bones sticking out of them--yes, there on the rocks five +hundred feet beneath. Ah! you would have slept soundly to-night, both of +you.” + +“Where is the place?” asked Mr. Clifford in a dazed fashion. “Leopard’s +Kloof?” + +“Yes; Leopard’s Kloof, no other. You have travelled along the top of the +hill, not at the bottom. Certainly that was a good thought which came to +me from the lady your daughter, for she is one of the thought senders, I +am sure. Ah! it came to me suddenly; it hit me like a stick whilst I was +searching for you, having found that you had lost the waggon. It said to +me, ‘Ride to the top of Leopard’s Kloof. Ride hard.’ I rode hard through +the rocks and the darkness, through the mist and the rain, and not one +minute had I been here when you came and I caught the lady’s bridle.” + +“I am sure we are very grateful to you,” murmured Benita. + +“Then I am paid back ten thousand times. No; it is I who am grateful--I +who have saved your life through the thought you sent me.” + +“Thought or no thought, all’s well that ends well,” broke in Mr. +Clifford impatiently. “And thank Heaven we are not more than three miles +away from home. Will you lead the way, Jacob? You always could see in +the dark?” + +“Yes, yes,” and he took hold of Benita’s bridle with his firm, white +hand. “Oh! my horse will follow, or put your arm through his rein--so. +Now come on, Miss Clifford, and be afraid no more. With Jacob Meyer you +are safe.” + +So they began their descent of the hill. Meyer did not speak again; +all his attention seemed to be concentrated upon finding a safe path on +which the horses would not stumble. Nor did Benita speak; she was +too utterly exhausted--so exhausted, indeed, that she could no longer +control her mind and imagination. These seemed to loose themselves from +her and to acquire new powers, notably that of entering into the secret +thoughts of the man at her side. She saw them pass before her like +living things, and yet she could not read them. Still, something she did +understand--that she had suddenly grown important to this man, not in +the way in which women are generally important to men, but otherwise. +She felt as though she had become interwoven with the objects of his +life, and was henceforth necessary to their fulfilment, as though she +were someone whom he had been seeking for years on years, the one person +who could give him light in his darkness. + +These imaginings troubled her, so that she was very thankful when they +passed away as swiftly as they had arisen, and she knew only that she +was half dead with weariness and cold; that her limbs ached and that the +steep path seemed endless. + +At length they reached level ground, and after travelling along it for +a while and crossing the bed of a stream, passed through a gate, and +stopped suddenly at the door of a house with lighted windows. + +“Here is your home at last, Miss Clifford,” said the musical voice of +Jacob Meyer, “and I thank the Fate which rules us that it has taught me +to bring you to it safely.” + +Making no answer she slid from the saddle, only to find that she could +not stand, for she sank into a heap upon the ground. With a gentle +exclamation he lifted her, and calling to two Kaffirs who had appeared +to take the horses, led her into the house. + +“You must go to bed at once,” he said, conducting her to a door which +opened out of the sitting-room. “I have had a fire lit in your chamber +in case you should come, and old Tante Sally will bring you soup with +brandy in it, and hot water for your feet. Ah! there you are, old vrouw. +Come now; help the lady, your mistress. Is all ready?” + +“All, Baas,” answered the woman, a stout half-breed with a kindly face. +“Come now, my little one, and I will undress you.” + +Half an hour later Benita, having drunk more brandy than ever she had +done in her life before, was wrapped up and fast asleep. + +When she awoke the sun was streaming through the curtained window of her +room, and by the light of it she saw that the clock which stood upon the +mantelpiece pointed to half-past eleven. She had slept for nearly twelve +hours, and felt that, notwithstanding the cold and exposure, save for +stiffness and a certain numb feeling in her head--the result, perhaps, +of the unaccustomed brandy--she was well and, what was more, quite +hungry. + +Outside on the verandah she heard the voice of Jacob Meyer, with which +she seemed already to have become familiar, telling some natives to stop +singing, as they would wake the chieftainess inside. He used the +Zulu word Inkosi-kaas, which, she remembered, meant head-lady or +chieftainess. He was very thoughtful for her, she reflected, and was +grateful, till suddenly she remembered the dislike she had taken to the +man. + +Then she looked round her room and saw that it was very pretty, well +furnished and papered, with water-colour pictures on the walls of no +mean merit, things that she had not expected in this far-off place. Also +on a table stood a great bowl of arum lilies. She wondered who had put +them there; whether it were the old half-breed, Sally, or Jacob Meyer. +Also she wondered who had painted the pictures, which were all of +African scenery, and something told her that both the flowers and the +pictures came from Jacob Meyer. + +On the little table by her bed was a handbell, which presently she rang. +Instantly she heard the voice of Sally calling for the coffee “quick,” + and next minute the woman entered, bringing a tray with it, and bread +and butter--yes, and toast and eggs, which had evidently been made ready +for her. Speaking in English mixed with Dutch words, she told Benita +that her father was still in bed, but sent her his love, and wished to +know how she did. Then, while she ate her breakfast with appetite, Sally +set her a bath, and subsequently appeared carrying the contents of the +box she had used upon the waggon, which had now arrived safely at the +farm. Benita asked who had ordered the box to be unpacked, and Sally +answered that the Heer Meyer had ordered it so that she might not be +disturbed in her sleep, and that her things should be ready for her when +she woke. + +“The Heer Meyer thinks a great deal about other people,” said Benita. + +“Ja, ja!” answered the old half-breed. “He tink much about people when +he want to tink about them, but he tink most about himself. Baas Meyer, +he a very clever man--oh! a very clever man, who want to be a great man +too. And one day, Missee, he be a great man, great and rich--if the Heer +God Almighty let him.” + + + + +VI + +THE GOLD COIN + +Six weeks had gone by since the eventful evening of Benita’s arrival at +Rooi Krantz. Now the spring had fully come, the veld was emerald with +grass and bright with flowers. In the kloof behind the house trees had +put out their leaves, and the mimosas were in bloom, making the air +heavy with their scent. Amongst them the ringdoves nested in hundreds, +and on the steep rocks of the precipice the red-necked vultures fed +their young. Along the banks of the stream and round the borders of +the lake the pig-lilies bloomed, a sheet of white. All the place was +beautiful and full of life and hope. Nothing seemed dead and hopeless +except Benita’s heart. + +Her health had quite come back to her; indeed, never before had she felt +so strong and well. But the very soul had withered in her breast. All +day she thought, and all night she dreamed of the man who, in cold +blood, had offered up his life to save a helpless woman and her child. +She wondered whether he would have done this if he had heard the answer +that was upon her lips. Perhaps that was why she had not been given time +to speak that answer, which might have made a coward of him. For nothing +more had been heard of Robert Seymour; indeed, already the tragedy of +the ship _Zanzibar_ was forgotten. The dead had buried their dead, and +since then worse disasters had happened in the world. + +But Benita could not bury her dead. She rode about the veld, she sat +by the lake and watched the wild fowl, or at night heard them flighting +over her in flocks. She listened to the cooing of the doves, the booming +of the bitterns in the reeds, and the drumming of the snipe high in air. +She counted the game trekking along the ridge till her mind grew weary. +She sought consolation from the breast of Nature and found none; she +sought it in the starlit skies, and oh! they were very far away. Death +reigned within her who outwardly was so fair to see. + +In the society of her father, indeed, she took pleasure, for he loved +her, and love comforted her wounded heart. In that of Jacob Meyer also +she found interest, for now her first fear of the man had died away, +and undoubtedly he was very interesting; well-bred also after a fashion, +although a Jew who had lost his own faith and rejected that of the +Christians. + +He told her that he was a German by birth, that he had been sent to +England as a boy, to avoid the conscription, which Jews dislike, since +in soldiering there is little profit. Here he had become a clerk in a +house of South African merchants, and, as a consequence--having shown +all the ability of his race--was despatched to take charge of a branch +business in Cape Colony. What happened to him there Benita never +discovered, but probably he had shown too much ability of an oblique +nature. At any rate, his connection with the firm terminated, and for +years he became a wandering “smouse,” or trader, until at length he +drifted into partnership with her father. + +Whatever might have been his past, however, soon she found that he was +an extremely able and agreeable man. It was he and no other who had +painted the water-colours that adorned her room, and he could play and +sing as well as he painted. Also, as Robert had told her, Mr. Meyer was +very well-read in subjects that are not usually studied on the veld +of South Africa; indeed, he had quite a library of books, most of them +histories or philosophical and scientific works, of which he would lend +her volumes. Fiction, however, he never read, for the reason, he told +her, that he found life itself and the mysteries and problems which +surround it so much more interesting. + +One evening, when they were walking together by the lake, watching +the long lights of sunset break and quiver upon its surface, Benita’s +curiosity overcame her, and she asked him boldly how it happened that +such a man as he was content to live the life he did. + +“In order that I may reach a better,” he answered. “Oh! no, not in the +skies, Miss Clifford, for of them I know nothing, nor, as I believe, is +there anything to know. But here--here.” + +“What do you mean by a better life, Mr. Meyer?” + +“I mean,” he answered, with a flash of his dark eyes, “great wealth, +and the power that wealth brings. Ah! I see you think me very sordid and +materialistic, but money is God in this world, Miss Clifford--money is +God.” + +She smiled and answered: “I fear, then, that he is likely to prove an +invisible god on the high veld, Mr. Meyer. You will scarcely make a +great fortune out of horse-breeding, and here there is no one to rule.” + +“Do you suppose, then, that is why I stop at Rooi Krantz, just to breed +horses? Has not your father told you about the great treasure hidden +away up there among the Makalanga?” + +“I have heard something of it,” she answered with a sigh. “Also that +both of you went to look for it and were disappointed.” + +“Ah! The Englishman who was drowned--Mr. Seymour--he spoke of it, did he +not? He found us there.” + +“Yes; and you wished to shoot him--do you remember?” + +“God in Heaven! Yes, because I thought he had come to rob us. Well, I +did not shoot, and afterwards we were hunted out of the place, which +does not much matter, as those fools of natives refused to let us dig in +the fortress.” + +“Then why do you still think about this treasure which probably does not +exist?” + +“Why, Miss Clifford, do you think about various things that probably +do not exist? Perhaps because you feel that here or elsewhere they _do_ +exist. Well, that is what I feel about the treasure, and what I have +always felt. It exists, and I shall find it--now. I shall live to see +more gold than you can even imagine, and that is why I still continue +to breed horses on the Transvaal veld. Ah! you laugh; you think it is a +nightmare that I breed----” + +Then suddenly he became aware of Sally, who had appeared over the fold +of the rise behind them, and asked irritably: + +“What is it now, old vrouw?” + +“The Baas Clifford wants to speak with you, Baas Jacob. Messengers have +come to you from far away.” + +“What messengers?” he asked. + +“I know not,” answered Sally, fanning her fat face with a yellow +pocket-handkerchief. “They are strange people to me, and thin with +travelling, but they talk a kind of Zulu. The Baas wishes you to come.” + +“Will you come also, Miss Clifford? No? Then forgive me if I leave you,” + and lifting his hat he went. + +“A strange man, Missee,” said old Sally, when he had vanished, walking +very fast. + +“Yes,” answered Benita, in an indifferent voice. + +“A very strange man,” went on the old woman. “Too much in his kop,” and +she tapped her forehead. “I tink it will burst one day; but if it does +not burst, then he will be great. I tell you that before, now I tell it +you again, for I tink his time come. Now I go cook dinner.” + +Benita sat by the lake till the twilight fell, and the wild geese began +to flight over her. Then she walked back to the house thinking no more +of Heer Meyer, thinking only that she was weary of this place in which +there was nothing to occupy her mind and distract it from its ever +present sorrow. + +At dinner, or rather supper, that night she noticed that both her father +and his partner seemed to be suffering from suppressed excitement, of +which she thought she could guess the cause. + +“Did you find your messengers, Mr. Meyer?” she asked, when the men had +lit their pipes, and the square-face--as Hollands was called in those +days, from the shape of the bottle--was set upon the rough table of +speckled buchenhout wood. + +“Yes, I found them,” he answered; “they are in the kitchen now.” And he +looked at Mr. Clifford. + +“Benita, my dear,” said her father, “rather a curious thing has +happened.” Her face lit up, but he shook his head. “No, nothing to do +with the shipwreck--that is all finished. Still, something that may +interest you, if you care to hear a story.” + +Benita nodded; she was in a mood to hear anything that would occupy her +thoughts. + +“You know something about this treasure business,” went on her father. +“Well, this is the tale of it. Years ago, after you and your mother +had gone to England, I went on a big game shooting expedition into the +interior. My companion was an old fellow called Tom Jackson, a rolling +stone, and one of the best elephant hunters in Africa. We did pretty +well, but the end of it was that we separated north of the Transvaal, I +bringing down the ivory that we had shot, and traded, and Tom stopping +to put in another season, the arrangement being that he was to join me +afterwards, and take his share of the money. I came here and bought this +farm from a Boer who was tired of it--cheap enough, too, for I only gave +him £100 for the 6,000 acres. The kitchens behind were his old house, +for I built a new one. + +“A year had gone by before I saw any more of Tom Jackson, and then he +turned up more dead than alive. He had been injured by an elephant, and +lay for some months among the Makalanga to the north of Matabeleland, +where he got fever badly at a place called Bambatse, on the Zambesi. +These Makalanga are a strange folk. I believe their name means the +People of the Sun; at any rate, they are the last of some ancient +race. Well, while he was there he cured the old Molimo, or hereditary +high-priest of this tribe, of a bad fever by giving him quinine, and +naturally they grew friendly. The Molimo lived among ruins of which +there are many over all that part of South Africa. No one knows who +built them now; probably it was people who lived thousands of years ago. +However, this Molimo told Tom Jackson a more recent legend connected +with the place. + +“He said that six generations before, when his great-great-great +grandfather was chief (Mambo, he called it), the natives of all +that part of South Africa rose against the white men--Portuguese, I +suppose--who still worked the gold there. They massacred them and their +slaves by thousands, driving them up from the southward, where Lobengula +rules now, to the Zambesi by which the Portuguese hoped to escape to the +coast. At length a remnant of them, not more than about two hundred men +and women, arrived at the stronghold called Bambatse, where the Molimo +now lives in a great ruin built by the ancients upon an impregnable +mountain which overhangs the river. With them they brought an enormous +quantity of gold, all the stored-up treasure of the land which they were +trying to carry off. But although they reached the river they could not +escape by it, since the natives, who pursued them in thousands, watched +day and night in canoes, and the poor fugitives had no boats. Therefore +it came about that they were shut up in this fortress which it was +impossible to storm, and there slowly perished of starvation. + +“When it was known that they were all dead, the natives who had followed +them from the south, and who wanted blood and revenge, not gold, which +was of no use to them, went away; but the old priest’s forefather who +knew the secret entrance to the place, and who had been friendly to +the Portuguese, forced his way in and there, amidst the dead, found +one woman living, but mad with grief--a young and beautiful girl, the +daughter of the Portuguese lord or captain. He gave her food, but in +the night, when some strength had returned to her, she left him, and +at daybreak he found her standing on the peak that overhangs the river, +dressed all in white. + +“He called some of his councillors, and they tried to persuade her to +come down from the rock, but she answered, ‘No, her betrothed and all +her family and friends were dead, and it was her will to follow them.’ +Then they asked where was the gold, for having watched day and night +they knew it had not been thrown into the river. She answered that it +was where it was, and that, seek as he might, no black man would ever +find it. She added that she gave it into his keeping, and that of his +descendants, to safeguard until she came again. Also she said that if +they were faithless to that trust, then it had been revealed to her from +heaven above that those same savages who had killed her father and her +people, would kill his people also. When she had spoken thus she stood a +while praying on the peak, then suddenly hurled herself into the river, +and was seen no more. + +“From that day to this the ruin has been held to be haunted, and +save the Molimo himself, who retires there to meditate and receive +revelations from the spirits, no one is allowed to set a foot in +its upper part; indeed, the natives would rather die than do so. +Consequently the gold still remains where it was hidden. This place +itself Tom Jackson did not see, since, notwithstanding his friendship +for him, the Molimo refused to allow him to enter there. + +“Well, Tom never recovered; he died here, and is buried in the little +graveyard behind the house which the Boers made for some of their +people. It was shortly before his death that Mr. Meyer became my +partner, for I forgot to say that I had told him the story, and we +determined to have a try for that great wealth. You know the rest. We +trekked to Bambatse, pretending to be traders, and found the old Molimo +who knew of me as having been Tom Jackson’s friend. We asked him if the +story he had told to Jackson were true, and he answered that, surely as +the sun shone in the heavens, it was true--every word of it--for it, +and much more than he had spoken of, had been handed down from father to +son, and that they even knew the name of the white lady who had killed +herself. It was Ferreira--your mother’s name, Benita, though a common +one enough in South Africa. + +“We asked him to allow us to enter the topmost stronghold, which stands +upon the hill, but he refused, saying that the curse still lay upon +him and his, and that no man should enter until the lady Ferreira came +again. For the rest the place was free to us; we might dig as we would. +So we did dig, and found some gold buried with the ancients, beads and +bangles and wire--about £100 worth. Also--that was on the day when the +young Seymours came upon us, and accounts for Meyer’s excitement, for +he thought that we were on the track of the treasure--we found a single +gold coin, no doubt one that had been dropped by the Portuguese. Here it +is.” And he threw a thin piece of gold on the table before her. “I have +shown it to a man learned in those matters, and he says that it is a +ducat struck by one of the doges of Venice. + +“Well, we never found any more. The end of it was that the Makalanga +caught us trying to get in to the secret stronghold by stealth, and gave +us the choice of clearing out or being killed. So we cleared out, for +treasure is not of much use to dead men.” + +Mr. Clifford ceased speaking, and filled his pipe, while Meyer helped +himself to squareface in an absent manner. As for Benita, she stared at +the quaint old coin, which had a hole in it, wondering with what scenes +of terror and of bloodshed it had been connected. + +“Keep it,” said her father. “It will go on that bracelet of yours.” + +“Thank you, dear,” she answered. “Though I don’t know why I should take +all the Portuguese treasure since we shall never see any more of it.” + +“Why not, Miss Clifford?” asked Meyer quickly. + +“The story tells you why--because the natives won’t even let you look +for it; also, looking and finding are different things.” + +“Natives change their minds sometimes, Miss Clifford. That story is +not done, it is only begun, and now you shall hear its second chapter. +Clifford, may I call in the messengers?” And without waiting for an +answer he rose and left the room. + +Neither Mr. Clifford nor his daughter said anything after he had gone. +Benita appeared to occupy herself in fixing the broad gold coin to a +little swivel on her bracelet, but while she did so once more that sixth +sense of hers awoke within her. As she had been afraid at the dinner on +the doomed steamer, so again she was afraid. Again death and great fear +cast their advancing shadows on to her soul. That piece of gold seemed +to speak to her, yet, alas! she could not understand its story. Only she +knew that her father and Jacob Meyer and--yes, yes, yes--Robert Seymour, +had all a part in that tragedy. Oh! how could that be when he was dead? +How could this gold link him to her? She knew not--she cared not. All +she knew was that she would follow this treasure to the edge of the +world, and if need be, over it, if only it brought her back to him +again. + + + + +VII + +THE MESSENGERS + +The door opened, and through it came Jacob Meyer, followed by three +natives. Benita did not see or hear them; her soul was far away. There +at the head of the room, clad all in white, for she wore no mourning +save in her heart, illuminated by the rays of the lamp that hung above +her, she stood still and upright, for she had risen; on the face and +in her wide, dark eyes a look that was very strange to see. Jacob +Meyer perceived it and stopped; the three natives perceived it also +and stopped. There they stood, all four of them, at the end of the long +sitting-room, staring at the white Benita and at her haunted eyes. + +One of the natives pointed with his thin finger to her face, and +whispered to the others. Meyer, who understood their tongue, caught the +whisper. It was: + +“Behold the Spirit of the Rock!” + +“What spirit, and what rock?” he asked in a low voice. + +“She who haunts Bambatse; she whom our eyes have seen,” answered the +man, still staring at Benita. + +Benita heard the whispering, and knew it was about herself, though not +one word of it did she catch. With a sigh she shook herself free from +her visions and sat down in a chair close by. Then one by one the +messengers drew near to her, and each, as he came, made a profound +obeisance, touching the floor with his finger-tips, and staring at her +face. But her father they only saluted with an uplifted hand. She looked +at them with interest, and indeed they were interesting in their way; +tall, spare men, light coloured, with refined, mobile faces. Here was no +negro-blood, but rather that of some ancient people such as Egyptians or +Phoenicians: men whose forefathers had been wise and civilized thousands +of years ago, and perchance had stood in the courts of Pharaoh or of +Solomon. + +Their salutations finished, the three men squatted in a line upon the +floor, drawing their fur karosses, or robes, about them, and waited in +silence. Jacob Meyer thought a while, then said: + +“Clifford, will you translate to your daughter, so that she may be sure +she is told exactly what passes?” + +Next he turned and addressed the natives. + +“Your names are Tamas, Tamala, and Hoba, and you, Tamas, are the son of +the Molimo of Bambatse, who is called Mambo, and you, Tamala and Hoba, +are his initiated councillors. Is it so?” + +They bowed their heads. + +“Good. You, Tamas, tell the story and give again your message that this +lady, the lady Benita, may hear it, for she has a part in the matter.” + +“We understand that she has a part,” answered Tamas. “We read in her +face that she has the greatest part. Doubtless it is of her that the +Spirit told my father. These, spoken by my mouth, are the words of the +Molimo, my father, which we have travelled so far to deliver. + +“‘When you two white men visited Bambatse four years ago, you asked of +me, Mambo, to be admitted to the holy place, that you might look for the +treasure there which the Portuguese hid in the time of my ancestor in +the sixth generation. I refused to allow you to look, or even to enter +the holy place, because I am by birth the guardian of that treasure, +although I know not where it lies. But now I am in a great strait. I +have news that Lobengula the usurper, who is king of the Matabele, has +taken offence against me for certain reasons, among them that I did not +send him a sufficient tribute. It is reported to me that he purposes +next summer to despatch an impi to wipe me and my people out, and to +make my kraal black as the burnt veld. I have little strength to resist +him who is mighty, and my people are not warlike. From generation to +generation they have been traders, cultivators of the land, workers in +metal, and men of peace, who desire not to kill or be killed. Also they +are few. Therefore I have no power to stand against Lobengula. + +“‘I remember the guns that you and your companion brought with you, +which can kill things from far away. If I had a supply of those guns +from behind my walls I might defy the impi of Lobengula, whose warriors +use the assegai. If you will bring me a hundred good guns and plenty of +powder and bullets for them, it is revealed to me that it will be lawful +for me to admit you to the secret, holy place, where you may look for +the buried gold for as long as you wish, and if you can find it, take +it all away without hindrance from me or my people. But I will be honest +with you. That gold will never be found save by the one appointed. The +white lady said so in the time of my forefather; he heard it with his +ears, and I have heard it from his descendants with my ears, and so it +shall be. Still, if you bring the guns you can come and see if either +of you is that one appointed. But I do not think that any man is so +appointed, for the secret is hid in woman. But of this you can learn for +yourselves. I do but speak as I am bidden. + +“‘This is my message spoken by my mouth, Tamas, son of my body, and my +councillors who go with him will bear witness that he speaks the truth. +I, Mambo, the Molimo of Bambatse, send you greeting, and will give you +good welcome and fulfil my promise, if you come with the far-shooting +guns, ten times ten of them, and the powder, and the bullets wherewith +I may drive off the Matabele, but not otherwise. My son, Tamas, and my +councillors will drive your waggon into my country but you must bring +no strange servants. The Spirit of the white woman who killed herself +before the eyes of my forefather has been seen of late standing upon the +point of rock; also she has visited me at night in my secret place where +her companions died. I do not know all that this portends, but I think +that amongst other things she wished to tell me that the Matabele are +about to attack us. I await the decree of the Heavens. I send you two +karosses as a gift, and a little ancient gold, since ivory is too heavy +for my messengers to carry, and I have no waggon. Farewell.’” + +“We have heard you,” said Meyer, when Mr. Clifford had finished +translating, “and we wish to ask you a question. What do you mean when +you say that the Spirit of the white woman has been seen?” + +“I mean what I say, white man,” answered Tamas. “She was seen by all +three of us, standing upon the pinnacle at the dawn; also my father saw +and spoke with her alone in his sleep at night. This is the third time +in my father’s day that she has appeared thus, and always before some +great event.” + +“What was she like?” asked Meyer. + +“Like? Oh! like the lady who sits yonder. Yes, quite the same, or so it +seemed to us. But who knows? We have seen no other white women, and we +were not very near. Let the lady come and stand side by side with the +Spirit, so that we can examine them both, and we shall be able to answer +better. Do you accept the offer of the Molimo?” + +“We will tell you to-morrow morning,” replied Meyer. “A hundred rifles +are many to find, and will cost much money. Meanwhile, for you there is +food and a sleeping-place.” + +The three men seemed disappointed at his answer, which they evidently +believed to be preliminary to a refusal. For a moment or two they +consulted together, then Tamas put his hand into a pouch and drew from +it something wrapped in dry leaves, which he undid, revealing a quaint +and beautiful necklace, fashioned of twisted gold links, wherein were +set white stones, that they had no difficulty in recognising as uncut +diamonds of considerable value. From this necklace also hung a crucifix +moulded in gold. + +“We offer this gift,” he said, “on behalf of Mambo, my father, to the +lady yonder, to whom the karosses and the rough gold are of no use. +The chain has a story. When the Portuguese lady hurled herself into the +river she wore it about her neck. As she fell into the river she struck +against a little point of rock which tore the chain away from her--see +where it is broken and mended with gold wire. It remained upon the point +of rock, and my forefather took it thence. It is a gift to the lady if +she will promise to wear it.” + +“Accept it,” muttered Mr. Clifford, when he had finished translating +this, “or you will give offence.” + +So Benita said: “I thank the Molimo, and accept his gift.” + +Then Tamas rose, and, advancing, cast the ancient, tragic thing over her +head. As it fell upon her shoulders, Benita knew that it was a chain of +destiny drawing her she knew not where, this ornament that had last been +worn by that woman, bereaved and unhappy as herself, who could find no +refuge from her sorrow except in death. Had she felt it torn from her +breast, she wondered, as she, the living Benita of to-day, felt it fall +upon her own? + +The three envoys rose, bowed, and went, leaving them alone. Jacob Meyer +lifted his head as though to address her, then changed his mind and was +silent. Both the men waited for her to speak, but she would not, and in +the end it was her father who spoke first. + +“What do you say, Benita?” he asked anxiously. + +“I? I have nothing to say, except that I have heard a very curious +story. This priest’s message is to you and Mr. Meyer, father, and must +be answered by you. What have I to do with it?” + +“A great deal, I think, my dear, or so those men seemed to believe. +At any rate, I cannot go up there without you, and I will not take you +there against your wish, for it is a long way off, and a queer business. +The question is, will you go?” + +She thought a space, while the two men watched her anxiously. + +“Yes,” she answered at length, in a quiet voice. “I will go if you wish +to go, not because I want to find treasure, but because the story and +the country where it happened interest me. Indeed, I don’t believe much +in the treasure. Even if they are superstitious and afraid to look for +it themselves, I doubt whether they would allow you to look if they +thought it could be found. To me the journey does not seem a good +business speculation, also there are risks.” + +“We think it good enough,” broke in Meyer decidedly. “And one does not +expect to get millions without trouble.” + +“Yes, yes,” said her father; “but she is right--there are risks, great +risks--fever, wild beasts, savages, and others that one cannot foresee. +Have I a right to expose her to them? Ought we not to go alone?” + +“It would be useless,” answered Meyer. “Those messengers have seen your +daughter, and mixed her up with their superstitious story of a ghost, +of which I, who know that there are no such things, believe nothing. +Without her now we shall certainly fail.” + +“As for the risks, father,” said Benita, “personally I take no account +of them, for I am sure that what is to happen will happen, and if I knew +that I was to die upon the Zambesi, it would make no difference to me +who do not care. But as it chances, I think--I cannot tell you why--that +you and Mr. Meyer are in more danger than I am. It is for you to +consider whether you will take the risks.” + +Mr. Clifford smiled. “I am old,” he said; “that is my answer.” + +“And I am accustomed to such things,” said Meyer, with a shrug of his +shoulders. “Who would not run a little danger for the sake of such a +glorious chance? Wealth, wealth, more wealth than we can dream of, +and with it, power--power to avenge, to reward, to buy position, and +pleasure, and all beautiful things which are the heritage of the very +rich alone,” and he spread out his hands and looked upwards, as though +in adoration of this golden god. + +“Except such trifles as health and happiness,” commented Benita, not +without sarcasm, for this man and his material desires disgusted her +somewhat, especially when she contrasted him with another man who +was lost to her, though it was true that _his_ past had been idle and +unproductive enough. Yet they interested her also, for Benita had never +met anyone like Mr. Meyer, so talented, so eager, and so soulless. + +“Then I understand it is settled?” she said. + +Mr. Clifford hesitated, but Meyer answered at once: + +“Yes, settled as far as anything can be.” + +She waited a moment for her father to speak, but he said nothing; his +chance had gone by. + +“Very well. Now we shall not need to trouble ourselves with further +doubts or argument. We are going to Bambatse on the Zambesi, a distant +place, to look for buried gold, and I hope, Mr. Meyer, that if you find +it, the results will come up to your expectations, and bring you all +sorts of good luck. Good-night, father dear, good-night.” + +“My daughter thinks it will bring us ill-luck,” said Mr. Clifford, when +the door had closed behind her. “That is her way of saying so.” + +“Yes,” answered Meyer gloomily; “she thinks that, and she is one of +those who have vision. Well, she may be wrong. Also, the question is, +shall we seize our opportunity and its dangers, or remain here and breed +bad horses all our lives, while she who is not afraid laughs at us? I am +going to Bambatse.” + +Again Mr. Clifford made no direct answer, only asked a question: + +“How long will it take to get the guns and ammunition, and what will +they cost?” + +“About a week from Wakkerstroom,” replied Meyer. “Old Potgieter, +the trader there, has just imported a hundred Martinis and a hundred +Westley-Richards falling-blocks. Fifty of each, with ten thousand rounds +of cartridges, will cost about £600, and we have as much as that in the +bank; also we have the new waggon, and plenty of good oxen and horses. +We can take a dozen of the horses with us, and sell them in the north +of the Transvaal for a fine price, before we get into the tetsefly +belt. The oxen will probably carry us through, as they are most of them +salted.” + +“You have thought it all out, Jacob, I see; but it means a lot of money +one way and another, to say nothing of other things.” + +“Yes, a lot of money, and those rifles are too good for Kaffirs. +Birmingham gas-pipes would have done for them, but there are none to be +had. But what is the money, and what are the guns, compared to all they +will bring us?” + +“I think you had better ask my daughter, Jacob. She seems to have her +own ideas upon the subject.” + +“Miss Clifford has made up her mind, and it will not change. I shall ask +her no more,” replied Meyer. + +Then he, too, left the room, to give orders about the journey to +Wakkerstroom that he must take upon the morrow. But Mr. Clifford sat +there till past midnight, wondering whether he had done right, and if +they would find the treasure of which he had dreamed for years, and what +the future had in store for them. + +If only he could have seen! + + +When Benita came to breakfast the next morning, she asked where Mr. +Meyer was, and learned that he had already departed for Wakkerstroom. + +“Certainly he is in earnest,” she said with a laugh. + +“Yes,” answered her father; “Jacob is always in earnest, though, +somehow, his earnestness has not brought him much good so far. If we +fail, it will not be want of thought and preparation on his part.” + +Nearly a week went by before Meyer returned again, and meanwhile Benita +made ready for her journey. In the intervals of her simple preparations +also she talked a good deal, with the help of her father, to the three +sturdy-looking Makalanga, who were resting thankfully after their long +journey. Their conversation was general, since by tacit consent no +further mention was made of the treasure or of anything to do with it, +but it enabled her to form a fair opinion of them and their people. She +gathered that although they spoke a dialect of Zulu, they had none +of the bravery of the Zulus, and indeed lived in deadly terror of the +Matabele, who are bastard Zulus--such terror, in fact, that she greatly +doubted whether the hundred rifles would be of much use to them, should +they ever be attacked by that tribe. + +They were what their fathers had been before them, agriculturists and +workers in metals--not fighting men. Also she set herself to learn what +she could of their tongue, which she did not find difficult, for Benita +had a natural aptitude for languages, and had never forgotten the Dutch +and Zulu she used to prattle as a child, which now came back to her +very fast. Indeed, she could already talk fairly in either of those +languages, especially as she spent her spare hours in studying their +grammar, and reading them. + +So the days went on, till one evening Jacob Meyer appeared with two +Scotch carts laden with ten long boxes that looked like coffins, and +other smaller boxes which were very heavy, to say nothing of a multitude +of stores. As Mr. Clifford prophesied, he had forgotten nothing, for +he even brought Benita various articles of clothing, and a revolver for +which she had not asked. + +Three days later they trekked away from Rooi Krantz upon a peculiarly +beautiful Sunday morning in the early spring, giving it out that they +were going upon a trading and shooting expedition in the north of the +Transvaal. Benita looked back at the pretty little stead and the wooded +kloof behind it over which she had nearly fallen, and the placid lake in +front of it where the nesting wildfowl wheeled, and sighed. For to her, +now that she was leaving it, the place seemed like home, and it came +into her mind that she would never see it any more. + + + + +VIII + +BAMBATSE + +Nearly four months had gone by when at length the waggon with which +were Mr. Clifford, Benita, and Jacob Meyer camped one night within the +country of the Molimo of Bambatse, whose name was Mambo. Or perhaps +that was his title, since (according to Tamas his son) every chief in +succession was called Mambo, though not all of them were Molimos, or +representatives and prophets of God, or the Great Spirit whom they knew +as Munwali. Thus sometimes the Molimo, or priest of Munwali, and the +Mambo or chief were different persons. For instance, he said that he, +Tamas, would be Mambo on his father’s death, but no visions were given +to him; therefore as yet, at any rate, he was not called to be Molimo. + +In the course of this long journey they had met with many adventures, +such as were common to African travellers before the days of railroads; +adventures with wild beasts and native tribes, adventures with swollen +rivers also, and one that was worst, with thirst, since for three days +(owing to the failure of a pit or pan, where they expected to find +water) they were obliged to go without drink. Still, none of these +were very serious, nor had any of the three of them ever been in better +health than they were at this moment, for by good luck they had escaped +all fever. Indeed, their rough, wild life had agreed with Benita +extraordinarily well, so well that any who had known her in the streets +of London would scarcely have recognized her as the sunburnt, active and +well-formed young woman who sat that night by the camp fire. + +All the horses they had brought with them had been sold, except some +which had died, and three that were “salted,” or proof against the +deadly horse sickness, which they took on with them. Their own servants +also had been sent back to Rooi Krantz in charge of a Scotch cart laden +with ivory, purchased from Boer hunters who had brought it down from the +north of the Transvaal. Therefore, for this was part of the bargain, the +three Makalanga were now their only attendants who drove and herded the +cattle, while Benita cooked the food which the two white men shot, or +sometimes bought from natives. + +For days they had been passing through a country that was practically +deserted, and now, having crossed a high nek, the same on which Robert +Seymour had left his waggon, they were camped in low land which, as they +could see by the remains of walls that appeared everywhere, had once +been extensively enclosed and cultivated. To their right was a rising +mountainous ground, beyond which, said the Makalanga, ran the Zambesi, +and in front of them, not more than ten miles away, a great isolated +hill, none other than that place that they had journeyed so far to +reach, Bambatse, round which flowed the great river. Indeed, thither one +of the three Makalanga, he who was named Hoba, had gone on to announce +their approach. + +They had outspanned amongst ruins, most of them circular in shape, and +Benita, studying them in the bright moonlight, guessed that once these +had been houses. That place now so solitary, hundreds or thousands of +years ago was undoubtedly the home of a great population. Thousands, +rather than hundreds, she thought, since close at hand in the middle +of one of these round houses, grew a mighty baobab tree, that could not +have seen less than ten or fifteen centuries since the seed whence it +sprang pierced the cement floor which was still visible about its giant +bole. + +Tamas, the Molimo’s son, saw her studying these evidences of antiquity, +and, approaching, saluted her. + +“Lady,” he said in his own language, which by now she spoke very well, +“lady”--and he waved his hand with a fine gesture--“behold the city of +my people.” + +“How do you know that it was their city?” she asked. + +“I do not know, lady. Stones cannot speak, the spirits are silent, and +we have forgotten. Still, I think so, and our fathers have told us that +but six or eight generations ago many folk lived here, though it was not +they who built these walls. Even fifty years ago there were many, but +now the Matabele have killed them, and we are few; to-morrow you will +see how few. Come here and look,” and he led her through the entrance +of a square cattle kraal which stood close by. Within were tufts of +rank grass, and a few bushes, and among these scores of skulls and other +bones. + +“The Matabele killed these in the time of Moselikatse,” he said. “Now +do you wonder that we who remain fear the Matabele, and desire guns to +defend ourselves from them, even if we must sell our secrets, in order +to buy those guns, who have no money to pay for them?” + +“No,” she answered, looking at the tall, dignified man, into whose soul +the irons of fear and slavery had burnt so deep. “No, I do not wonder.” + +Next morning at daybreak they trekked on, always through these evidences +of dead, forgotten people. They had not more than ten miles to cover to +reach their long journey’s end, but the road, if so it could be called, +ran up-hill, and the oxen, whereof only fourteen were now left to drag +the heavy-laden waggon, were thin and footsore, so that their progress +was very slow. Indeed, it was past midday when at length they began to +enter what by apology might be called the town of Bambatse. + +“When we go away from this, it will have to be by water, I think, unless +we can buy trek-cattle,” said Meyer, looking at the labouring oxen with +a doubtful eye. + +“Why?” asked Mr. Clifford anxiously. + +“Because several of those beasts have been bitten by tetsefly, like my +horse, and the poison is beginning to work. I thought so last night, but +now I am sure. Look at their eyes. It was down in that bit of bush veld +eight days ago. I said that we ought not to camp there.” + +At this moment they came to the crest of the ridge, and on its further +side saw the wonderful ruins of Bambatse close at hand. In front of +them stood a hill jutting out, as it were into the broad waters of the +Zambesi river, which, to a great extent, protected it upon three sides. +The fourth, that opposite to them, except at one place where a kind of +natural causeway led into the town, was also defended by Nature, since +here for more than fifty feet in height the granite rock of the base of +the hill rose sheer and unclimbable. On the mount itself, that in all +may have covered eight or ten acres of ground, and surrounded by a deep +donga or ditch, were three rings of fortifications, set one above the +other, mighty walls which, it was evident, had been built by no modern +hand. Looking at them Benita could well understand how it came about +that the poor fugitive Portuguese had chosen this as their last place of +refuge, and were overcome at length, not by the thousands of savages who +followed and surrounded them, but by hunger. Indeed, the place seemed +impregnable to any force that was not armed with siege guns. + +On the hither side of this natural fosse, which, doubtless, in ancient +times had been filled with water led from the Zambesi, stood the village +of the Bambatse Makalanga, a collection of seventy or eighty wretched +huts, round, like those of their forefathers, but built of mud and +thatch. About them lay the gardens, or square fields, that were well +cultivated, and at this season rich with ripening corn. Benita, however, +could see no cattle, and concluded, therefore, that these must be kept +on the hill for safety, and within its walls. + +Down the rough road they lumbered, and through the village, where the +few women and children stared at them in a frightened way. Then they +came to the causeway, which, on its further side, was blocked with +thorns and rough stones taken from the ruins. While they waited for +these to be removed by some men who now appeared, Benita looked at the +massive, circular wall still thirty or forty feet in height, by perhaps +twenty through its base, built of granite blocks without mortar, +and ornamented with quaint patterns of other coloured stones. In +its thickness she could see grooves, where evidently had once been +portcullises, but these had disappeared long ago. + +“It is a wonderful place,” she said to her father. “I am glad that I +came. Have you been all over it?” + +“No; only between the first and second walls, and once between the +second and third. The old temple, or whatever it is, is on the top, +and into that they would never admit us. It is there that the treasure +lies.” + +“That the treasure is supposed to lie,” she answered with a smile. “But, +Father, what guarantee have you that they will do so now? Perhaps they +will take the guns and show us the door--or rather the gate.” + +“Your daughter is right, there is none; and before a box is taken off +the waggon we must get one,” said Meyer. “Oh! I know it is risky, and it +would have been better to make sure first, but it is too late to talk of +that now. Look, the stones are cleared. Trek on--trek!” + +The long waggon-whip cracked, the poor, tired-out oxen strained at the +yokes, and on they went through the entrance of that fateful fortress +that was but just wide enough to admit them. Inside lay a great open +space, which, as they could see from the numerous ruins, had once been +filled with buildings that now were half hidden by grass, trees, and +creepers. This was the outer ring of the temple where, in ancient +days, the priests and captains had their home. Travelling across it for +perhaps a hundred and fifty yards, they came near the second wall, which +was like the first, only not quite so solid, and saw that on a stretch +of beaten ground, and seated in the shadow, for the day was hot, the +people of Bambatse were gathered to greet them. + +When within fifty yards they dismounted from the horses, which were +left with the waggon in the charge of the Makalanga, Tamala. Then Benita +taking her position between her father and Jacob Meyer, they +advanced towards the ring of natives, of whom there may have been two +hundred--all of them adult men. + +As they came, except one figure who remained seated with his back +against the wall, the human circle stood up as a token of respect, and +Benita saw that they were of the same stamp as the messengers--tall and +good-looking, with melancholy eyes and a cowed expression, wearing the +appearance of people who from day to day live in dread of slavery and +death. Opposite to them was a break in the circle, through which Tamas +led them, and as they crossed it Benita felt that all those people +were staring at her with their sad eyes. A few paces from where the +man crouched against the wall, his head hidden by a beautifully worked +blanket that was thrown over it, were placed three well-carved stools. +Upon these, at a motion from Tamas, they sat themselves down, and, as it +was not dignified for them to speak first, remained silent. + +“Be patient and forgive,” said Tamas at length. “My father, Mambo, prays +to the Munwali and the spirits of his fathers that this coming of yours +may be fortunate, and that a vision of those things that are to be may +descend upon him.” + +Benita, feeling nearly two hundred pairs of eyes concentrated upon her, +wished that the vision might come quickly, but after a minute or +two fell into tune with the thing, and almost enjoyed this strange +experience. Those mighty ancient walls built by hands unknown, which +had seen so much history and so much death; the silent, triple ring +of patient, solemn men, the last descendants of a cultured race, the +crouching figure hidden beneath the blanket, who imagined himself to be +communicating with his god--it was all very strange, very well worth the +seeing to one who had wearied of the monotony of civilization. + +Look, the man stirred, and threw back his blanket, revealing a head +white with age, a spiritual, ascetic face, so thin that every bone +showed in it, and dark eyes which stared upwards unseeingly, like those +of a person in a trance. Thrice he sighed, while his tribesmen watched +him. Then he let his eyes fall upon the three white people seated +in front of him. First he looked at Mr. Clifford, and his face grew +troubled; then at Jacob Meyer, and it was anxious and alarmed. Lastly, +he stared at Benita, and while he did so the dark eyes became calm and +happy. + +“White maiden,” he said in a soft, low voice, “for you, at least, I have +good tidings. Though Death come near to you, though you see him on your +right hand and your left, and in front of you and behind you, I say, +fear not. Here you, who have known deep sorrow, shall find happiness and +rest, O maiden, with whom goes the spirit of one pure and fair as you, +who died so long ago.” + +Then, while Benita wondered at his words, spoken with such sweet +earnestness that although she believed nothing of them, they brought +a kind of comfort to her, he looked once more at her father and Jacob +Meyer, and, as it were with an effort, was silent. + +“Have you no pleasant prophecy for me, old friend,” said Jacob, “who +have come so far to hear it?” + +At once the aged face grew inscrutable, all expression vanished behind a +hundred wrinkles, and he answered: + +“None, white man--none that I am charged to deliver. Search the skies +for yourself, you who are so wise, and read them if you can. Lords,” he +went on in another voice, “I greet you in the name and presence of my +children. Son Tamas, I greet you also; you have done your mission well. +Listen, now--you are weary and would rest and eat; still, bear with me, +for I have a word to say. Look around you. You see all my tribe, not +twenty times ten above the age of boys, we who once were countless as +the leaves on yonder trees in spring. Why are we dead? Because of the +Amandabele, those fierce dogs whom, two generations ago, Moselikatse, +the general of Chaka, brought up to the south of us, who ravish us and +kill us year by year. + +“We are not warlike, we who have outlived war and the lust of slaying. +We are men of peace, who desire to cultivate the land, and to follow our +arts which have descended to us from our ancestors, and to worship +the Heavens above us, whither we depart to join the spirits of our +forefathers. But they are fierce and strong and savage, and they come +up and murder our children and old people, and take away the young women +and the maidens to be slaves, and with them all our cattle. Where are +our cattle? Lobengula, chief of the Amandabele, has them; scarce a cow +is left to give milk to the sick or to the motherless babe. And yet he +sends for cattle. Tribute, say his messengers, deliver tribute, or my +impi will come and take it with your lives. But we have no cattle--all +are gone. We have nothing left to us but this ancient mountain and the +works built thereon, and a little corn on which we live. Yes, I say +it--I, the Molimo--I whose ancestors were great kings--I who have still +more wisdom in me than all the hosts of the Amandabele,” and as he spoke +the old man’s grey head sank upon his breast and the tears ran down his +withered cheeks, while his people answered: + +“Mambo, it is true.” + +“Now listen again,” he went on. “Lobengula threatens us, therefore I +sent to these white men who were here before, saying that if they would +bring me a hundred guns, and powder and ball, to enable us to beat off +the Amandabele from behind these strong walls of ours, I would take them +into the secret holy place where for six generations no white man has +set a foot, and there suffer them to search for the treasure which is +hid therein, no man knows where, that treasure which they asked leave to +find four winters gone. We refused it then and drove them hence, because +of the curse laid upon us by the white maid who died, the last of the +Portuguese, who foretold her people’s fate for us if we gave up the +buried gold save to one appointed. My children, the Spirit of Bambatse +has visited me; I have seen her and others have seen her, and in my +sleep she said to me: ‘Suffer the men to come and search, for with them +is one of the blood to whom my people’s wealth is given; and great is +your danger, for many spears draw nigh.’ My children, I sent my son and +other messengers on a far journey to where I knew the men dwelt, and +they have returned after many months bringing those men with them, +bringing with them also another of whom I knew nothing--yes, her who is +appointed, her of whom the Spirit spoke.” + +Then he lifted his withered hand and held it towards Benita, saying: “I +tell you that yonder she sits for whom the generations have waited.” + +“It is so,” answered the Makalanga. “It is the White Lady come again to +take her own.” + +“Friends,” asked the Molimo, while they wondered at his strange speech, +“tell me, have you brought the guns?” + +“Surely,” answered Mr. Clifford, “they are there in the waggon, every +one of them, the best that can be made, and with them ten thousand +cartridges, bought at a great cost. We have fulfilled our share of the +bargain; now will you fulfil yours, or shall we go away again with the +guns and leave you to meet the Matabele with your assegais?” + +“Say you the agreement while we listen,” answered the Molimo. + +“Good,” said Mr. Clifford. “It is this: That you shall find us food and +shelter while we are with you. That you shall lead us into the secret +place at the head of the hill, where the Portuguese died, and the gold +is hidden. That you shall allow us to search for that gold when and +where we will. That if we discover the gold, or anything else of value +to us, you shall suffer us to take it away, and assist us upon our +journey, either by giving us boats and manning them to travel down the +Zambesi, or in whatever fashion may be most easy. That you shall permit +none to hurt, molest, or annoy us during our sojourn among you. Is that +our contract?” + +“Not quite all of it,” said the Molimo. “There is this to add: first +that you shall teach us how to use the guns; secondly, that you shall +search for and find the treasure, if so it is appointed, without our +help, since in this matter it is not lawful for us to meddle; thirdly, +that if the Amandabele should chance to attack us while you are here, +you shall do your best to assist us against their power.” + +“Do you, then, expect attack?” asked Meyer suspiciously. + +“White man, we always expect attack. Is it a bargain?” + +“Yes,” answered Mr. Clifford and Jacob Meyer in one voice, the latter +adding: “the guns and the cartridges are yours. Lead us now to the +hidden place. We have fulfilled our part; we trust to the honour of you +and all your people to fulfil yours.” + +“White Maiden,” asked the Molimo, addressing Benita, “do you also say +that it is a bargain?” + +“What my father says, I say.” + +“Good,” said the Molimo. “Then, in the presence of my people, and in the +name of the Munwali, I, Mambo, who am his prophet, declare that it is so +agreed between us, and may the vengeance of the heavens fall upon those +who break our pact! Let the oxen of the white men be outspanned, their +horses fed, their waggon unloaded, that we may count the guns. Let food +be brought into the guest-house also, and after they have eaten, I, who +alone of all of you have ever entered it, will lead them to the holy +place, that there they may begin to search for that which the white +men desire from age to age--to find it if they can; if not, to depart +satisfied and at peace.” + + + + +IX + +THE OATH OF MADUNA + +Mr. Clifford and Meyer rose to return to the waggon in order to +superintend the unyoking of the oxen and to give directions as to their +herding, and the off-saddling of the horses. Benita rose also, wondering +when the food that had been promised would be ready, for she was hungry. +Meanwhile, the Molimo was greeting his son Tamas, patting his hand +affectionately and talking to him, when suddenly Benita, who watched +this domestic scene with interest, heard a commotion behind her. Turning +to discover its cause, she perceived three great men clad in full war +panoply, shields on their left arms, spears in their right hands, black +ostrich plumes rising from the polished rings woven in their hair, black +moochas about their middles, and black oxtails tied beneath their knees, +who marched through the throng of Makalanga as though they saw them not. + +“The Matabele! The Matabele are on us!” cried a voice; while other +voices shouted, “Fly to your walls!” and yet others, “Kill them! They +are few.” + +But the three men marched on unheeding till they stood before Mambo. + +“Who are you, and what do you seek?” the old man asked boldly, though +the fear that had taken hold of him at the sight of these strangers was +evident enough, for his whole body shook. + +“Surely you should know, chief of Bambatse,” answered their spokesman +with a laugh, “for you have seen the like of us before. We are the +children of Lobengula, the Great Elephant, the King, the Black Bull, the +Father of the Amandabele, and we have a message for your ear, little Old +Man, which, finding that you leave your gate open, we have walked in to +deliver.” + +“Speak your message then, envoys of Lobengula, in my ear and in those of +my people,” said the Molimo. + +“Your people! Are these all your people?” the spokesman replied +contemptuously. “Why then, what need was there for the indunas of the +King to send so large an impi under a great general against you, when a +company of lads armed with sticks would have served the turn? We thought +that these were but the sons of your house, the men of your own family, +whom you had called together to eat with the white strangers.” + +“Close the entrance in the wall,” cried the Molimo, stung to fury by the +insult; and a voice answered: + +“Father, it is already done.” + +But the Matabele, who should have been frightened, only laughed again, +and their spokesman said: + +“See, my brothers, he thinks to trap us who are but three. Well, kill +on, Old Wizard, if you will, but know that if a hand is lifted, +this spear of mine goes through your heart, and that the children of +Lobengula die hard. Know also that then the impi which waits not far +away will destroy you every one, man and woman, youth and maiden, +little ones who hold the hand and infants at the breast; none shall be +left--none at all, to say, ‘Here once lived the cowardly Makalanga of +Bambatse.’ Nay, be not foolish, but talk softly with us, so that perhaps +we may spare your lives.” + +Then the three men placed themselves back to back, in such fashion that +they faced every way, and could not be smitten down from behind, and +waited. + +“I do not kill envoys,” said the Molimo, “but if they are foul-mouthed, +I throw them out of my walls. Your message, men of the Amandabele.” + +“I hear you. Hearken now to the word of Lobengula.” + +Then the envoy began to speak, using the pronoun I as though it were the +Matabele king himself who spoke to his vassal, the Makalanga chief: “I +sent to you last year, you slave, who dare to call yourself Mambo of the +Makalanga, demanding a tribute of cattle and women, and warning you that +if they did not come, I would take them. They did not come, but that +time I spared you. Now I send again. Hand over to my messengers fifty +cows and fifty oxen, with herds to drive them, and twelve maidens to +be approved by them, or I wipe you out, who have troubled the earth too +long, and that before another moon has waned. + +“Those are the words of Lobengula,” he concluded, and taking the horn +snuff-box from the slit in his ear, helped himself, then insolently +passed it to the Molimo. + +So great was the old chief’s rage that, forgetting his self-control, he +struck the box from the hand of his tormentor to the ground, where the +snuff lay spilled. + +“Just so shall the blood of your people be spilled through your rash +foolishness,” said the messenger calmly, as he picked up the box, and as +much of the snuff as he could save. + +“Hearken,” said the Molimo, in a thin, trembling voice. “Your king +demands cattle, knowing that all the cattle are gone, that scarce a cow +is left to give drink to a motherless babe. He asks for maidens also, +but if he took those he seeks we should have none left for our young men +to marry. And why is this so? It is because the vulture, Lobengula, has +picked us to the bone; yes, while we are yet alive he has torn the flesh +from us. Year by year his soldiers have stolen and killed, till at last +nothing is left of us. And now he seeks what we have not got to give, in +order that he may force a quarrel upon us and murder us. There is nought +left for us to give Lobengula. You have your answer.” + +“Indeed!” replied the envoy with a sneer. “How comes it, then, that +yonder I see a waggon laden with goods, and oxen in the yokes? Yes,” + he repeated with meaning, “with goods whereof we have known the like +at Buluwayo; for Lobengula also sometimes buys guns from white men, O! +little Makalanga. Come now, give us the waggon with its load and the +oxen and the horses, and though it be but a small gift, we will take it +away and ask nothing more this year.” + +“How can I give you the property of my guests, the white men?” asked the +Molimo. “Get you gone, and do your worst, or you shall be thrown from +the walls of the fortress.” + +“Good, but know that very soon we shall return and make an end of +you, who are tired of these long and troublesome journeys to gather so +little. Go, tend your corn, dwellers in Bambatse, for this I swear in +the name of Lobengula, never shall you see it ripen more.” + +Now the crowd of listening Makalanga trembled at his words, but in the +old Molimo they seemed only to rouse a storm of prophetic fury. For a +moment he stood staring up at the blue sky, his arms outstretched as +though in prayer. Then he spoke in a new voice--a clear, quiet voice, +that did not seem to be his own. + +“Who am I?” he said. “I am the Molimo of the Bambatse Makalanga; I am +the ladder between them and Heaven; I sit on the topmost bough of +the tree under which they shelter, and there in the crest of the +tree Munwali speaks with me. What to you are winds, to me are voices +whispering in my spirit’s ears. Once my forefathers were great kings, +they were Mambos of all the land, and that is still my name and dignity. +We lived in peace; we laboured, we did wrong to no man. Then you Zulu +savages came upon us from the south-east and your path was red with +blood. Year after year you robbed and you destroyed; you raided our +cattle, you murdered our men, you took our maidens and our children to +be your women and your slaves, until at length, of all this pit filled +with the corn of life, there is left but a little handful. And this you +say you will eat up also, lest it should fall into good ground and grow +again. I tell you that I think it will not be so; but whether or no that +happens, I have words for the ear of your king--a message for a message. +Say to him that thus speaks the wise old Molimo of Bambatse. + +“I see him hunted like a wounded hyena through the rivers, in the deep +bush, and over the mountain. I see him die in pain and misery; but his +grave I see not, for no man shall know it. I see the white man take his +land and all his wealth; yea, to them and to no son of his shall his +people give the Bayéte, the royal salute. Of his greatness and his +power, this alone shall remain to him--a name accursed from generation +to generation. And last of all I see peace upon the land and upon my +children’s children.” He paused, then added: “For you, cruel dog that +you are, this message also from the Munwali, by the lips of his Molimo. +I lift no hand against you, but you shall not live to look again upon +your king’s face. Begone now, and do your worst.” + +For a moment the three Matabele seemed to be frightened, and Benita +heard one of them say to his companions: + +“The Wizard has bewitched us! He has bewitched the Great Elephant and +all his people! Shall we kill him?” + +But quickly shaking off his fears their spokesman laughed, and answered: + +“So that is what you have brought the white people here for, old +traitor--to plot against the throne of Lobengula.” + +He wheeled round and stared at Mr. Clifford and Jacob Meyer; then added: + +“Good, Grey-beard and Black-Beard: I myself will put you both to such a +death as you have never heard of, and as for the girl, since she is well +favoured, she shall brew the king’s beer, and be numbered amongst the +king’s wives--unless, indeed, he is pleased to give her to me.” + +In an instant the thing was done! At the man’s words about Benita, +Meyer, who had been listening to his threats and bombast unconcerned, +suddenly seemed to awake. His dark eyes flashed, his pale face turned +cruel. Snatching the revolver from his belt he seemed to point and fire +it with one movement, and down--dead or dying--went the Matabele. + +Men did not stir, they only stared. Accustomed as they were to death in +that wild land, the suddenness of this deed surprised them. The contrast +between the splendid, brutal savage who had stood before them a moment +ago, and the limp, black thing going to sleep upon the ground, was +strange enough to move their imaginations. There he lay, and there, over +him, the smoking pistol in his hand, Meyer stood and laughed. + +Benita felt that the act was just, and the awful punishment deserved. +Yet that laugh of Jacob’s jarred upon her, for in it she thought she +heard the man’s heart speaking; and oh, its voice was merciless! Surely +Justice should not laugh when her sword falls! + +“Behold, now,” said the Molimo in his still voice, pointing at the dead +Matabele with his finger; “do I speak lies, or is it true that this +man shall not look more upon his king’s face? Well, as it was with +the servant, so it shall be with the lord, only more slowly. It is the +decree of the Munwali, spoken by the voice of his Mouth, the Molimo of +Bambatse. Go, children of Lobengula, and bear with you as an offering +this first-fruit of the harvest that the white men shall reap among the +warriors of his people.” + +The thin voice died away, and there was silence so intense that Benita +thought she heard the scraping of the feet of a green lizard which crept +across a stone a yard or two away. + +Then of a sudden it ended. Of a sudden the two remaining Matabele turned +and fled for their lives, and as, when dogs run, a flock of sheep will +wheel about and pursue them, so did the Makalanga. They grabbed at the +messengers with their hands, tearing their finery from them; they struck +them with sticks, they pounded them with stones, till at length two +bruised and bleeding men, finding all escape cut off, and led perhaps +by some instinct, staggered back to where Benita stood horrified at this +dreadful scene, and throwing themselves upon the ground, clutched at her +dress and prayed for mercy. + +“Move a little, Miss Clifford,” said Meyer. “Three of those brutes will +not weigh heavier than one upon my conscience.” + +“No, no, you shall not,” she answered. “Mambo, these men are messengers; +spare them.” + +“Hearken to the voice of pity,” said the old prophet, “spoken in a place +where pity never was, and not in vain. Let them go. Give mercy to the +merciless, for she buys their lives with a prayer.” + +“They will bring the others on us,” muttered Tamas, and even old Mr. +Clifford shook his head sadly. But the Molimo only said: + +“I have spoken. Let them go. That which will befall must befall, and +from this deed no ill shall come that would not have come otherwise.” + +“You hear? Depart swiftly,” said Benita, in Zulu. + +With difficulty the two men dragged themselves to their feet, and +supporting each other, stood before her. One of them, a clever, +powerful-faced man, whose black hair was tinged with grey, addressing +himself to Benita, gasped: + +“Hear me. That fool there,” and he pointed to his dead companion, “whose +boasting brought his death upon him, was but a low fellow. I, who kept +silence and let him talk, am Maduna, a prince of the royal house who +justly deserve to die because I turned my back upon these dogs. Yet I +and my brother here take life at your hands, Lady, who, now that I have +had time to think, would refuse it at theirs. For, whether I stay or +go does not matter. The impi waits; the slayers are beneath the walls. +Those things which are decreed will happen; there, yonder old Wizard +speaks true. Listen, Lady: should it chance that you have cause to +demand two lives at the hands of Maduna, in his own name and the name +of his king he promises them to you. In safety shall they pass, they +and all that is theirs, without toll taken. Remember the oath of Maduna, +Lady, in the hour of your need, and do you, my brother, bear witness to +it among our people.” + +Then, straightening themselves as well as they were able, these two +sorely hurt men lifted their right arms and gave Benita the salute +due to a chieftainess. This done, taking no note of any other creature +there, they limped away to the gate that had been opened for them, and +vanished beyond the wall. + +All this while Meyer had stood silent; now he spoke with a bitter smile. + +“Charity, Miss Clifford, said a certain Paul, as reported in your New +Testament, covers a multitude of sins. I hope very much that it will +serve to cover our remains from the aasvogels, after we have met our +deaths in some such fashion as that brute promised us,” and he pointed +to the dead man. + +Benita looked at her father in question. + +“Mr. Meyer means, my dear, that you have done a foolish thing in begging +the lives of those Matabele. It would have been safer for us if they +were dead, who, as it is, have gone off burning for revenge. Of course, +I understand it was natural enough, but----” and he hesitated and +stopped. + +“The chief did not say so,” broke in Benita with agitation; “besides, if +he had, I should not have cared. It was bad enough to see one man killed +like that,” and she shivered; “I could not bear any more.” + +“You should not be angry at the fellow’s death, seeing that it was what +he said of you which brought it upon him,” Meyer replied with meaning. +“Otherwise he might have gone unharmed as far as I was concerned. For +the rest, I did not interfere because I saw it was useless; also I am +a fatalist like our friend, the Molimo, and believe in what is decreed. +The truth is,” he added sharply, “among savages ladies are not in +place.” + +“Why did you not say that down at Rooi Krantz, Jacob?” asked Mr. +Clifford. “You know I thought so all the while, but somehow I was +over-ruled. Now what I suggest is, that we had better get out of this +place as fast as we can--instantly, as soon as we have eaten, before our +retreat is cut off.” + +Meyer looked at the oxen which had been outspanned: nine were wandering +about picking up what food they could, but the five which were supposed +to have been bitten by tetsefly had lain down. + +“Nine worn-out and footsore oxen will not draw the waggon,” he said; +“also in all probability the place is already surrounded by Matabele, +who merely let us in to be sure of the guns which their spies must have +told them we were carrying. Lastly, having spent so much and come so +far, I do not mean to go without what we seek. Still, if you think that +your daughter’s danger is greater within these walls than outside +of them, you might try, if we can hire servants, which I doubt. Or +possibly, if any rowers are to be had, you could go down the Zambesi in +a canoe, risking the fever. You and she must settle it, Clifford.” + +“Difficulties and dangers every way one looks. Benita, what do you say?” + asked her father distractedly. + +Benita thought a moment. She wished to escape from Mr. Meyer, of whom +she was weary and afraid, and would have endured much to do so. On the +other hand, her father was tired out, and needed rest; also to turn +his back upon this venture now would have been a bitter blow to him. +Moreover, lacking cattle and men, how was it to be done? Lastly, +something within her, that same voice which had bidden her to come, +seemed to bid her to stay. Very soon she had made up her mind. + +“Father, dear,” she said, “thank you for thinking of me, but as far as +I can see, we should run more risks trying to get away than we do in +stopping here. I wanted to come, though you warned me against it, and +now I must take my chance and trust to God to bring us safe through all +dangers. Surely with all those rifles the Makalanga ought to be able to +hold such a place as this against the Matabele.” + +“I hope so,” answered her father; “but they are a timid folk. Still, +though it would have been far better never to have come, I think with +you that it is best to stay where we are, and trust to God.” + + + + +X + +THE MOUNTAIN TOP + +If our adventurers, or any of them, hoped that they were going to be +led to the secret places of the fortress that day, they were destined +to disappointment. Indeed, the remainder of it was employed arduously +enough in unpacking rifles, and a supply of ammunition; also in giving +to a few of the leading Makalanga preliminary lessons in the method of +their use, a matter as to which their ideas were of the vaguest. The +rest of the tribe, having brought their women and children into the +outer enclosure of the ancient stronghold, and with them their sheep +and goats and the few cattle which remained to them, were employed in +building up the entrance permanently with stones, a zigzag secret path +upon the river side, that could be stopped in a few minutes, being now +their only method of ingress and egress through the thickness of the +walls. A certain number of men were also sent out as spies to discover, +if possible, the whereabouts of the Matabele impi. + +That there was some impi they were almost sure, for a woman who had +followed them reported that the injured captain, Maduna, and his +companion had been met at a distance of about three miles from Bambatse +by a small party of Matabele, who were hiding in some bushes, and that +these men had made litters for them, and carried them away; whither she +did not know, for she had not dared to pursue them further. + +That night Benita passed in the guesthouse, which was only a hut rather +larger than the others, while the two men slept in the waggon just +outside. She was so tired that for a long while she could not rest. Her +mind kept flying back to all the events of the day: the strange words +of that mystic old Molimo, concerning herself; the arrival of the brutal +messengers and the indaba that followed; then the sudden and awful +destruction of their spokesman at the hand of Jacob Meyer. The scene +would not leave her eyes, she saw it again and yet again: the quick +transformation of Meyer’s indifferent face when the soldier began to +insult and threaten her, the lightning-like movement of his hand, the +flash, the report, the change from life to death, and the slayer’s cruel +laugh. He could be very terrible, Jacob Meyer, when his passions were +roused! + +And what had roused them then? She could not doubt that it was +herself--not mere chivalry towards a woman. Even if he were capable of +chivalry, merely for that he would never have taken such risk of future +trouble and revenge. No; it was something deeper. He had never said +anything or done anything, yet long ago instinct or insight had caused +Benita to suspect the workings of his mind, and now she was sure of +them. The thought was terrible--worse than all her other dangers put +together. True, she had her father to rely on, but he had been somewhat +ailing of late; age and these arduous journeys and anxieties had told +upon him. Supposing that anything were to happen to him--if he died, for +instance, how dreadful her position might become, left alone far from +the reach of help, with savages--and Jacob Meyer. + +Oh! if it had not been for that dreadful shipwreck, how different might +be her lot to-day! Well, it was the thought of the shipwreck and of him +whom she had lost therein, which had driven her on to this adventure, +that in it perhaps her suffering mind might be numbed to rest; and now +she must face its issues. God still remained above her, and she would +put her trust in Him. After all, if she died, what did it matter? + +But that old Molimo had promised her that she was safe from death, that +she should find here happiness and rest, though not that of the grave. +He promised this, speaking as one who knew of all her grief, and a very +little while afterwards, in the case of the Matabele soldier, he had +proved himself a prophet of awful power. Also--she knew not how, she +knew not why--now, as before, her inmost heart seemed to bear witness +that this old dreamer’s words were true, and that for her, in some +strange manner unforeseen, there still remained a rest. + +Comforted a little by this intuition, at length Benita fell asleep. + +Next morning, when she came out of the hut, Benita was met by her +father, who with a cheerful countenance informed her that at any rate +as yet there was no sign of the Matabele. A few hours later, too, some +spies came in who said that for miles round nothing could be seen or +heard of them. Still the preparations for defence went on, and the +hundred best men having been furnished with the rifles, were being +drilled in the use of them by Tamas and his two companions, Tamala and +Hoba, who had learned how to handle a gun very well in the course of +their long journey. The shooting of these raw recruits, however, proved +to be execrable; indeed, so dangerous were they that when one of them +fired at a mark set upon the wall, it was found necessary to order +all the rest to lie down. As it was, a poor trek ox--luckily it was +sick--and two sheep were killed. + +Foreseeing a scarcity of provisions in the event of a siege, Meyer, +provident as ever, had already decreed the death of the tetse-bitten +cattle. These were accordingly despatched, and having been skinned and +cut up, their flesh was severed into long strips to be dried in the +burning sun as biltong, which secretly Benita hoped she might never be +called upon to eat. Yet the time was to come when she would swallow that +hard, tetse-poisoned flesh with thankfulness. + +At midday, after they had eaten, Mr. Clifford and Meyer went to the +Molimo, where he sat against the second wall, and, pointing to the men +with the guns, said: + +“We have fulfilled our bargain. Now fulfil yours. Lead us to the holy +place that we may begin our search.” + +“So be it,” he answered. “Follow me, white people.” + +Then, quite unattended, he guided them round the inner wall till they +came to a path of rock not more than a yard wide, beneath which was a +precipice fifty feet or so in depth that almost overhung the river. This +giddy path they followed for about twenty paces, to find that it ended +in a cleft in the wall so narrow that only one person could walk +through it at a time. That it must have been the approach to the second +stronghold was evident, however, since it was faced on either side with +dressed stones, and even the foundation granite had been worn by the +human feet which had passed here for ages upon ages. This path zigzagged +to and fro in the thickness of the wall till it brought them finally +within its circle, a broad belt of steeply-rising ground, covered like +that below with the tumbled ruins of buildings amidst which grew bush +and trees. + +“Heaven send that the gold is not buried here,” said Mr. Clifford, +surveying the scene; “for if it is, we shall never find it.” + +The Molimo seemed to guess the meaning of his words from his face, for +he answered: + +“I think not here. The besiegers won this place and camped in it for +many weeks. I could show you where they built their fires and tried to +undermine the last wall within which the Portuguese sat about until +hunger killed them, for they could not eat their gold. Follow me again.” + +So on they went up the slope till they came to the base of the third +wall, and as before, passed round it, and reached a point above the +river. But now there was no passage, only some shallow and almost +precipitous steps cut from single stones leading from the foot of the +wall to its summit, more than thirty feet above. + +“Really,” said Benita, contemplating this perilous ascent with dismay, +“the ways of treasure seekers are hard. I don’t think I can,” while her +father also looked at them and shook his head. + +“We must get a rope,” said Meyer to the Molimo angrily. “How can we +climb that place without one, with such a gulf below?” + +“I am old, but I climb it,” said the aged man in mild surprise, since to +him, who had trodden it all his life, it seemed not difficult. “Still,” + he added, “I have a rope above which I use upon dark nights. I will +ascend and let it down.” + +Ascend he did accordingly; indeed, it was a wondrous sight to see his +withered legs scrambling from step to step as unconcernedly as though +he were going upstairs. No monkey could have been more agile, or more +absolutely impervious to the effects of height. Soon he vanished in--or, +rather, through--the crest of the wall, and presently appeared again on +the top step, whence he let down a stout hide rope, remarking that it +was securely tied. So anxious was Meyer to enter the hidden place of +which he had dreamed so long that he scarcely waited for it to reach +his hand before he began the climb, which he accomplished safely. Then, +sitting on the top of the wall, he directed Mr. Clifford to fasten the +end of the rope round Benita’s waist, and her turn came. + +It was not so bad as she expected, for she was agile, and the knowledge +that the rope would prevent disaster gave her confidence. In a very +little while she had grasped Meyer’s outstretched hand, and been drawn +into safety through a kind of aperture above the top step. Then the rope +was let down again for her father, who tied it about his middle. Well +was it that he did so, since when he was about half-way up, awkwardness, +or perhaps loss of nerve--neither of them wonderful in an old +man--caused his foot to slip, and had it not been for the rope which +Meyer and the Molimo held, he would certainly have fallen into the +river some hundreds of feet below. As it was, he recovered himself, and +presently arrived panting and very pale. In her relief Benita kissed +him, and even as she did so thought again that she had been very near to +being left alone with Jacob Meyer. + +“All’s well that ends well, my dear,” he said. “But upon my word I am +beginning to wish that I had been content with the humble profits of +horse-breeding.” + +Benita made no answer; it seemed too late for any useful consideration +of the point. + +“Clever men, those ancients,” said Meyer. “See,” and he pointed out +to her how, by drawing a heavy stone which still lay close by over the +aperture through which they had crept, the ascent of the wall could +be made absolutely impossible to any enemy, since at its crest it was +battened outwards, not inwards, as is usual in these ancient ruins. + +“Yes,” she answered, “we ought to feel safe enough inside here, and +that’s as well since I do not feel inclined to go out again at present.” + +Then they paused to look about them, and this was what they saw: + +The wall, built like those below, of unmortared blocks of stone, +remained in a wonderfully good state of preservation, for its only +enemies had been time, the tropical rains, and the growth of shrubs +and trees which here and there had cracked and displaced the stones. It +enclosed all the top of the hill, perhaps three acres of ground, and +on it at intervals were planted soap-stone pillars, each of them about +twelve feet in height, and fashioned at the top to a rude resemblance +of a vulture. Many of these columns, however had been blown down, or +perhaps struck by lightning, and lay broken upon the wall, or if they +had fallen inward, at its foot; but some, six or eight perhaps, were +still standing. + +Benita learned afterwards that they must have been placed there by +the ancient Phoenicians, or whatever people constructed this gigantic +fortification, and had something to do with the exact recordings of the +different seasons of the year, and their sub-divisions, by means of the +shadows which they cast. As yet, however, she did not pay much attention +to them, for she was engaged in considering a more remarkable relic of +antiquity which stood upon the very verge of the precipice, the wall, +indeed, being built up to its base on either side. + +It was the great cone of which Richard Seymour had told her, fifty feet +high or more, such as once was found in the Phoenician temples. But in +this case it was not built of masonry, but shaped by the hand of man out +of a single gigantic granite monolith of the sort that are sometimes to +be met with in Africa, that thousands or millions of years ago had been +left standing thus when the softer rock around it was worn away by time +and weather. On the inner side of this cone were easy steps whereby +it could be ascended, and its top, which might have been six feet in +diameter, was fashioned in the shape of a cup, probably for the purposes +of acts of worship and of sacrifice. This extraordinary monument, which, +except on the river side, could not be seen from below on account of +the slope of the hill, leaned slightly outwards, so that a stone dropped +from its crest would fall into the waters of the stream. + +“Thence it was,” said the Molimo, “that my forefathers saw the last of +the Portuguese, the fair daughter of the great Captain Ferreira, hurl +herself to death after she had given the gold into our keeping, and laid +the curse upon it, until she came again. So in my dreams have I seen and +heard her also, ay, and others have seen her, but these only from by the +river far below.” + +He paused awhile, looking at Benita with his queer, dreamy eyes; then +said suddenly: + +“Say, Lady, do you remember nothing of that matter?” + +Now Benita grew vexed, for the whole thing was uncanny and jarred upon +her. + +“How can I remember,” she asked, “who was born not five and twenty years +ago?” + +“I do not know,” he answered. “How should I know, who am but an ignorant +old black man, who was born not much more than eighty years ago? Yet, +Lady, tell me, for I seek your wisdom, where were you born from? Out of +the earth, or out of the heavens? What? You shake your head, you who +do not remember? Well, neither do I remember. Yet it is true that all +circles meet somewhere, and it is true that the Portuguese maiden said +she would come again; and lastly it is true that she was such an one +as you are, for she haunts this place, and I, who have seen her sitting +yonder in the moonlight, know her beauty well. Yet mayhap she comes no +more in flesh, but still her spirit comes; for, Lady, out of those eyes +of yours I see it gaze at me. Come,” he added abruptly, “let us descend +the wall, for as you cannot remember, there is more to show you. Have no +fear--the steps are easy.” + +So they went down without much difficulty, since, from the accumulation +of rubbish and other causes, the wall was a great deal lower on this +side, and found themselves in the usual dense growth of vegetation and +brushwood through which ran a little path. It led them past the ruins +of buildings whereof the use and purpose were long since forgotten, for +their roofs had fallen in hundreds or thousands of years ago, to the +entrance of a cave which was placed almost at the foot of the monolithic +cone, but thirty or forty yards further from the circle of the wall. +Here the Molimo bade them stay while he lit the lamps within. Five +minutes passed and he returned, saying that all was ready. + +“Be not afraid of what you may see,” he added, “for know, white people, +that save my forefathers and myself, none have entered this place since +the Portuguese perished here, nor have we, who do but come hither to +pray and receive the word of the Munwali, ever ventured to disturb it. +As it was, so it is. Come, Lady, come; she whose spirit goes with you +was the last of your white race to pass this door. It is therefore +fitting that your feet and her spirit should be the first to enter it +again.” + +Benita hung back a little, for the adventure was eerie, then, determined +that she would show no fear in the presence of this old priest, took the +thin hand he stretched out to her, and walked forward with head erect. +The two men began to follow her, but the Molimo stopped them, saying: + +“Not so. The maiden enters first alone with me; it is her house, and +should it please her to ask you to dwell therein, so be it. But first +she must visit her house alone.” + +“Nonsense,” said Mr. Clifford angrily. “I will not have it. It will +frighten her.” + +“Lady, do you trust me?” asked the Molimo. + +“Yes,” she answered; adding, “Father, I think you had better let me go +alone. I am not afraid now, and it may be wisest not to thwart him. This +is a very strange business--not like anything else--and really I think +that I had better go alone. If I do not come back presently, you can +follow.” + +“Those who break in upon the sleep of the dead should walk gently, +gently,” piped the old Molimo in a sing-song voice. “The maiden’s breath +is pure; the maiden’s foot is light; her breath will not offend the +dead; her step will not disturb the dead. White men, white men, anger +not the dead, for the dead are mighty, and will be revenged upon you +when you are dead; soon, very soon, when you are dead--dead in your +sorrows, dead in your sins, dead, gathered to that company of the dead +who await us here.” + +And, still chanting his mystic song, he led Benita by the hand out of +the light, onward into darkness, away from life, onward into the place +of death. + + + + +XI + +THE SLEEPERS IN THE CAVE + +Like every other passage in this old fortress, the approach to the cave +was narrow and winding; presumably the ancients had arranged them thus +to facilitate their defence. After the third bend, however, Benita saw a +light ahead which flowed from a native lamp lit in the arched entrance. +At the side of this arch was a shell-shaped hollow, cut in the rock +about three feet above the floor. Its appearance seemed familiar to her; +why, she was soon to learn, although at the moment she did not connect +it with anything in particular. The cave beyond was large, lofty, and +not altogether natural, for its walls had evidently been shaped, or at +any rate trimmed, by man. Probably here the old Priests had established +their oracle, or place of offering. + +At first Benita could not see much, since in that great cavern two lamps +of hippopotamus oil gave but little light. Presently, however, her eyes +became accustomed to the gloom, and as they advanced up its length she +perceived that save for a skin rug upon which she guessed the Molimo sat +at his solitary devotions, and some gourds and platters for water and +food, all the front part of the place appeared to be empty. Beyond, in +its centre, stood an object of some gleaming metal, that from its double +handles and roller borne upon supports of rock she took to be some kind +of winch, and rightly, for beneath it was the mouth of a great well, the +water supply of the topmost fortification. + +Beyond the well was a stone altar, shaped like a truncated cone or +pyramid, and at some distance away against the far wall, as she dimly +discovered by the lamp that stood upon the altar, cut in relief upon +that wall indeed, a colossal cross to which, vigorously if rudely +executed in white stone, hung the image of Christ crucified, the crown +of thorns upon His drooping head. Now she understood. Whatever may have +been the first worship to which this place was dedicated, Christians +had usurped it, and set up here the sacred symbol of their faith, +awful enough to look upon in such surroundings. Doubtless, also, the +shell-shaped basin at the entrance had served the worshippers in this +underground chapel as a stoup for holy water. + +The Molimo lifted the lamp from the altar, and having adjusted its +wick, held it up in front of the rood before which, although she was no +Catholic, Benita bowed her head and crossed herself, while he watched +her curiously. Then he lowered it, and she perceived that on the +cemented floor lay great numbers of shrouded forms that at first looked +to her like folk asleep. He stepped to one of them and touched it with +his foot, whereon the cloth with which it was covered crumbled into +dust, revealing beneath a white skeleton. + +All those sleepers rested well indeed, for they had been dead at least +two hundred years. There they lay--men, women, and children, though of +the last but few. Some of them had ornaments on their bones, some were +clad in armour, and by all the men were swords, or spears, or knives, +and here and there what she took to be primitive fire-arms. Certain +of them also had turned into mummies in that dry air--grotesque and +dreadful objects from which she gladly averted her eyes. + +The Molimo led her forward to the foot of the crucifix, where, upon +its lowest step and upon the cemented floor immediately beneath it +respectively, lay two shapes decorously covered with shawls of some +heavy material interwoven with gold wire, for the manufacture of which +the Makalanga were famous when first the Portuguese came into contact +with them. The Molimo took hold of the cloths that seemed almost as +good now as on the day when they were woven, and lifted them, +revealing beneath the figures of a man and woman. The features were +unrecognizable, although the hair, white in the man’s case and raven +black in that of the woman, remained perfect. They had been great +people, for orders glittered upon the man’s breast, and his sword was +gold hilted, whilst the woman’s bones were adorned with costly necklaces +and jewels, and in her hand was still a book bound in sheets of +silver. Benita took it up and looked at it. It was a missal beautifully +illuminated, which doubtless the poor lady had been reading when at +length she sank exhausted into the sleep of death. + +“See the Lord Ferreira and his wife,” said the Molimo, “whom their +daughter laid thus before she went to join them.” Then, at a motion from +Benita, he covered them up again with their golden cloths. + +“Here they sleep,” he went on in his chanting voice, “a hundred and +fifty and three of them--a hundred and fifty and three; and when I dream +in this place at night, I have seen the ghosts of every one of them +arise from beside their forms and come gliding down the cave--the +husband with the wife, the child with the mother--to look at me, and +ask when the maiden returns again to take her heritage and give them +burial.” + +Benita shuddered; the solemn awfulness of the place and scene oppressed +her. She began to think that she, too, saw those ghosts. + +“It is enough,” she said. “Let us be going.” + +So they went, and the pitiful, agonized Christ upon the cross, at which +she glanced from time to time over her shoulder, faded to a white blot, +then vanished away in the darkness, through which, from generation to +generation, it kept its watch above the dead, those dead that in their +despair once had cried to it for mercy, and bedewed its feet with tears. + +Glad, oh! glad was she when she had left that haunted place behind her, +and saw the wholesome light again. + +“What have you seen?” asked her father and Meyer, in one breath, as they +noted her white and frightened face. + +She sank upon a stone seat at the entrance of the cave, and before she +could open her lips the Molimo answered for her: + +“The maiden has seen the dead. The Spirit who goes with her has given +greeting to its dead that it left so long ago. The maiden has done +reverence to the White One who hangs upon the cross, and asked a +blessing and a pardon of Him, as she whose Spirit goes with her did +reverence before the eyes of my forefathers, and asked a blessing and a +pardon ere she cast herself away.” And he pointed to the little golden +crucifix which hung upon Benita’s bosom, attached to the necklace which +Tamas, the messenger, had given her at Rooi Krantz. + +“Now,” he went on, “now the spell is broken, and the sleepers must +depart to sleep elsewhere. Enter, white men; enter, if you dare, and ask +for pardon and for blessing if it may be found, and gather up the dry +bones and take the treasure that was theirs, if it may be found, and +conquer the curse that goes with the treasure for all save one, if +you can, if you can, if you can! Rest you here, maiden, in the sweet +sunshine, and follow me, white men; follow me into the dark of the dead +to seek for that which the white men love.” And once more he vanished +down the passage, turning now and again to beckon to them, while they +went after him as though drawn against their wish. For now, at the last +moment, some superstitious fear spread from him to them, and showed +itself in their eyes. + +To Benita, half fainting upon the stone seat, for this experience had +shaken her to the heart, it seemed but a few minutes, though really +the best part of an hour had gone by, when her father reappeared as +white-faced as she had been. + +“Where is Mr. Meyer?” she asked. + +“Oh!” he answered. “He is collecting all the golden ornaments off those +poor bodies, and tumbling their bones together in a corner of the cave.” + +Benita uttered an exclamation of horror. + +“I know what you mean,” said her father. “But, curse the fellow! he +has no reverence, although at first he seemed almost as scared as I was +myself. He said that as we could not begin our search with all those +corpses about, they had best be got out of the way as soon as possible. +Or perhaps it was because he is really afraid of them, and wanted to +prove to himself that they are nothing more than dust. Benita,” went on +the old man, “to tell you the truth, I wish heartily that we had left +this business alone. I don’t believe that any good will come of it, and +certainly it has brought enough trouble already. That old prophet of a +Molimo has the second sight, or something like it, and he does not hide +his opinion, but keeps chuckling away in that dreadful place, and piping +out his promises of ill to be.” + +“He promised me nothing but good,” said Benita with a little smile. +“Though I don’t see how it can happen. But if you dislike the thing, +father, why not give it up and try to escape?” + +“It is too late, dear,” he replied passionately. “Meyer would never +come, and I can’t in honour leave him. Also, I should laugh at myself +for the rest of my life; and, after all, why should we not have the gold +if it can be found? It belongs to nobody. We do not get it by robbery, +or murder; nuggets are of no use to Portuguese who have been dead two +hundred years, and whose heirs, if they have any, it is impossible to +discover. Nor can it matter to them whether they lie about singly as +they died or were placed after death, or piled together in a corner. Our +fears were mere churchyard superstitions, which we have caught from that +ghoul of a Molimo. Don’t you agree with me?” + +“Yes, I suppose so,” answered Benita, “though a fate may cling to +certain things or places, perhaps. At any rate, I think that it is of no +use turning back now, even if we had anywhere to turn, so we may as well +go through with the venture and await its end. Give me the water-bottle, +please. I am thirsty.” + +A while later Jacob Meyer appeared, carrying a great bundle of precious +objects wrapped in one of the gold cere-cloths, which bundle he hid away +behind a stone. + +“The cave is much tidier now,” he said, as he flicked the thick dust +which had collected on them during his unhallowed task from his hands, +and hair, and garments. Then he drank greedily, and asked: + +“Have you two made any plans for our future researches?” + +They shook their heads. + +“Well, then, I have. I thought them out while I was bone-carting, and +here they are. It is no use our going down below again; for one thing, +the journey is too dangerous, and takes too long; and for another, we +are safer up above, where we have plenty to do.” + +“But,” said Benita, “how about things to eat and sleep on, and the +rest?” + +“Simple enough, Miss Clifford; we must get them up. The Kaffirs will +bring them to the foot of the third wall, and we will haul them to its +top with a rope. Of water it seems there is plenty in that well, which +is fed by a spring a hundred and fifty feet down, and the old chain +is still on the roller, so we only need a couple of buckets from the +waggon. Of wood for cooking there is plenty also, growing on the spot; +and we can camp in the cave or outside of it, as we like, according to +the state of the weather. Now, do you rest here while I go down. I will +be back in an hour with some of the gear, and then you must help me.” + +So he went, and the end of it was that before nightfall they had enough +things for their immediate needs, and by the second night, working +very hard, were more or less comfortably established in their strange +habitation. The canvas flap from the waggon was arranged as a tent for +Benita, the men sleeping beneath a thick-leaved tree near by. Close at +hand, under another tree, was their cooking place. The provisions of all +sorts, including a couple of cases of square-face and a large supply +of biltong from the slaughtered cattle, they stored with a quantity of +ammunition in the mouth of the cave. Fresh meat also was brought to +them daily, and hauled up in baskets--that is, until there was none +to bring--and with it grain for bread, and green mealies to serve as +vegetables. Therefore, as the water from the well proved to be excellent +and quite accessible, they were soon set up in all things necessary, and +to these they added from time to time as opportunity offered. + +In all these preparations the old Molimo took a part, nor, when they +were completed, did he show any inclination to leave them. In the +morning he would descend to his people below, but before nightfall he +always returned to the cave, where for many years it had been his custom +to sleep--at any rate several times a week, in the gruesome company of +the dead Portuguese. Jacob Meyer persuaded Mr. Clifford that his object +was to spy upon them, and talked of turning him out; but Benita, between +whom and the old man had sprung up a curious friendship and sympathy, +prevented it, pointing out that they were much safer with the Molimo, +as a kind of hostage, than they could be without him; also, that his +knowledge of the place, and of other things, might prove of great help +to them. So in the end he was allowed to remain, as indeed he had a +perfect right to do. + +All this while there was no sign of any attack by the Matabele. Indeed, +the fear of such a thing was to some extent dying away, and Benita, +watching from the top of the wall, could see that their nine remaining +oxen, together with the two horses--for that belonging to Jacob Meyer +had died--and the Makalanga goats and sheep, were daily driven out to +graze; also, that the women were working in the crops upon the fertile +soil around the lowest wall. Still, a strict watch was kept, and at +night everyone slept within the fortifications; moreover, the drilling +of the men and their instruction in the use of firearms went on +continually under Tamas, who now, in his father’s old age, was the +virtual chief of the people. + +It was on the fourth morning that at length, all their preparations +being completed, the actual search for the treasure began. First, +the Molimo was closely interrogated as to its whereabouts, since they +thought that even if he did not know this exactly, some traditions of +the fact might have descended to him from his ancestors. But he declared +with earnestness that he knew nothing, save that the Portuguese maiden +had said that it was hidden; nor, he added, had any dream or vision come +to him concerning this matter, in which he took no interest. If it was +there, it was there; if it was not there, it was not there--it remained +for the white men to search and see. + +For no very good reason Meyer had concluded that the gold must have been +concealed in or about the cave, so here it was that they began their +investigations. + +First, they bethought them of the well into which it might possibly +have been thrown, but the fact of this matter proved very difficult +to ascertain. Tying a piece of metal--it was an old Portuguese +sword-hilt--to a string, they let it down and found that it touched +water at a depth of one hundred and twenty feet, and bottom at a depth +of one hundred and forty-seven feet. Therefore there were twenty-seven +feet of water. Weighting a bucket they sank it until it rested upon this +bottom, then wound it up again several times. On the third occasion it +brought up a human bone and a wire anklet of pure gold. But this proved +nothing, except that some ancient, perhaps thousands of years ago, had +been thrown, or had fallen, into the well. + +Still unsatisfied, Jacob Meyer, who was a most intrepid person, +determined to investigate the place himself, a task of no little +difficulty and danger, since proper ladders were wanting, nor, had they +existed, was there anything to stand them on. Therefore it came to this: +a seat must be rigged on to the end of the old copper chain, and be +lowered into the pit after the fashion of the bucket. But, as Benita +pointed out, although they might let him down, it was possible that they +would not be able to draw him up again, in which case his plight must +prove unfortunate. So, when the seat had been prepared, an experiment +was made with a stone weighing approximately as much as a man. This +Benita and her father let down easily enough, but, as they anticipated, +when it came to winding it up again, their strength was barely +sufficient to the task. Three people could do it well, but with two the +thing was risky. Now Meyer asked--or, rather, commanded--the Molimo to +order some of his men to help him, but this the old chief refused point +blank to do. + +First, he made a number of excuses. They were all employed in drilling, +and in watching for the Matabele; they were afraid to venture here, and +so forth. At last Meyer grew furious; his eyes flashed, he ground his +teeth, and began to threaten. + +“White man,” said the Molimo, when he had done, “it cannot be. I have +fulfilled my bargain with you. Search for the gold; find it and take it +away if you can. But this place is holy. None of my tribe, save he who +holds the office of Molimo for the time, may set a foot therein. Kill +me if you will--I care not; but so it is, and if you kill me, afterwards +they will kill you.” + +Now Meyer, seeing that nothing was to be gained by violence, changed his +tone, and asked if he himself would help them. + +“I am old, my strength is small,” he replied; “yet I will put my hand to +the chain and do my best. But, if I were you, I would not descend that +pit.” + +“Still, I will descend it, and to-morrow,” said Meyer. + + + + +XII + +THE BEGINNING OF THE SEARCH + +Accordingly, on the next day the great experiment was made. The +chain and ancient winding gear had been tested and proved to be amply +sufficient to the strain. Therefore, nothing remained save for Meyer +to place himself in the wooden seat with an oil-lamp, and in case this +should be extinguished, matches and candles, of both of which they had a +large supply. + +He did so boldly enough, and swung out over the mouth of the pit, while +the three of them clutched the handles of the winch. Then they began to +lower, and slowly his white face disappeared into the black depth. At +every few turns his descent was stopped that he might examine the walls +of the well, and when he was about fifty feet down he called to them to +hold on, which they did, listening while he struck at the rock with a +hammer, for here it sounded very hollow. + +At length he shouted to them to lower away again, and they obeyed, until +nearly all the chain was out, and they knew he must be near the water. +Now Benita, peeping over the edge, saw that the star of light had +vanished. His lamp was out, nor did he appear to attempt to re-light it. +They shouted down the well to him, but no answer coming, began to wind +up as fast as they were able. It was all that their united strength +could manage, and very exhausted were they when at length Jacob +reappeared at the top. At first, from the look of him they thought that +he was dead, and had he not tied himself to the chain, dead he certainly +would have been, for evidently his senses had left him long ago. Indeed, +he had fallen almost out of the seat, over which his legs hung limply, +his weight being supported by the hide rope beneath his arms which was +made fast to the chain. + +They swung him in and dashed water over his face, till, to their relief, +at last he began to gasp for breath, and revived sufficiently to enable +them to half-lead and half-carry him out into the fresh air. + +“What happened to you?” asked Clifford. + +“Poisoned with gases, I suppose,” Meyer answered with a groan, for +his head was aching sadly. “The air is often bad at the bottom of deep +wells, but I could smell or feel nothing until suddenly my senses left +me. It was a near thing--a very near thing.” + +Afterwards, when he had recovered a little, he told them that at one +spot deep down in the well, on the river side of it, he found a place +where it looked as though the rock had been cut away for a space of +about six feet by four, and afterwards built up again with another sort +of stone set in hard mortar or cement. Immediately beneath, too, were +socket-holes in which the ends of beams still remained, suggesting that +here had been a floor or platform. It was while he was examining these +rotted beams that insensibility overcame him. He added that he thought +that this might be the entrance to the place where the gold was hidden. + +“If so,” said Mr. Clifford, “hidden it must remain, since it can have no +better guardian than bad air. Also, floors like that are common in all +wells to prevent rubbish from falling into the water, and the stonework +you saw probably was only put there by the ancients to mend a fault in +the rock and prevent the wall from caving in.” + +“I hope so,” said Meyer, “since unless that atmosphere purifies a good +deal I don’t think that even I dare go down again, and until one gets +there, of that it is difficult to be sure, though of course a lantern on +a string will tell one something.” + +This was the end of their first attempt. The search was not renewed +until the following afternoon, when Meyer had recovered a little from +the effects of the poisoning and the chafing of the hide ropes beneath +his arms. Indeed, from the former he never did quite recover, since +thenceforward Benita, who for her own reasons watched the man closely, +discovered a marked and progressive change in his demeanour. Hitherto he +had appeared to be a reserved man, one who kept tight hand upon himself, +and, if she knew certain things about him, it was rather because she +guessed, or deduced them, than because he allowed them to be seen. On +two occasions only had he shown his heart before her--when they had +spoken together by the shores of Lake Chrissie on the day of the arrival +of the messengers, and he declared his ardent desire for wealth and +power; and quite recently, when he killed the Matabele envoy. Yet she +felt certain that this heart of his was very passionate and insurgent; +that his calm was like the ice that hides the stream, beneath which its +currents run fiercely, none can see whither. The fashion in which his +dark eyes would flash, even when his pale countenance remained unmoved, +told her so, as did other things. + +For instance, when he was recovering from his swoon, the first words +that passed his lips were in German, of which she understood a little, +and she thought that they shaped themselves to her name, coupled with +endearing epithets. From that time forward he became less guarded--or, +rather, it seemed as though he were gradually losing power to control +himself. He would grow excited without apparent cause, and begin to +declaim as to what he would do when he had found the gold; how he would +pay the world back all it had caused him to suffer--how he would become +a “king.” + +“I am afraid that you will find that exalted position rather lonely,” + said Benita with a careless laugh, and next minute was sorry that she +had spoken, for he answered, looking at her in a way that she did not +like: + +“Oh, no! There will be a queen--a beautiful queen, whom I shall endow +with wealth, and deck with jewels, and surround with love and worship.” + +“What a fortunate lady!” she said, still laughing, but taking the +opportunity to go away upon some errand. + +At other times, especially after dark, he would walk up and down in +front of the cave, muttering to himself, or singing wild old German +songs in his rich voice. Also, he made a habit of ascending the granite +pillar and seating himself there, and more than once called down to +her to come up and share his “throne.” Still, these outbreaks were so +occasional that her father, whose perceptions appeared to Benita to be +less keen than formerly, scarcely noticed them, and for the rest his +demeanour was what it had always been. + +Further researches into the well being out of the question, their next +step was to make a thorough inspection of the chapel-cave itself. They +examined the walls inch by inch, tapping them with a hammer to hear if +they sounded hollow, but without result. They examined the altar, but it +proved to be a solid mass of rock. By the help of a little ladder they +had made, they examined the crucifix, and discovered that the white +figure on the cross had evidently been fashioned out of some heathen +statue of soft limestone, for at its back were the remains of draperies, +and long hair which the artist had not thought it necessary to cut away. +Also, they found that the arms had been added, and were of a slightly +different stone, and that the weight of the figure was taken partly by +an iron staple which supported the body, and partly by strong copper +wire twisted to resemble cord, and painted white, which was passed round +the wrists and supported the arms. This wire ran through loops of rock +cut in the traverse of the cross, that itself was only raised in relief +by chiselling away the solid stone behind. + +Curiously enough, this part of the search was left to Mr. Clifford and +Benita, since it was one that Jacob Meyer seemed reluctant to undertake. +A Jew by birth, and a man who openly professed his want of belief in +that or any other religion, he yet seemed to fear this symbol of the +Christian faith, speaking of it as horrible and unlucky; yes, he who, +without qualm or remorse, had robbed and desecrated the dead that +lay about its feet. Well, the crucifix told them nothing; but as Mr. +Clifford, lantern in hand, descended the ladder, which Benita held, +Jacob Meyer, who was in front of the altar, called to them excitedly +that he had found something. + +“Then it is more than we have,” said Mr. Clifford, as he laid down the +ladder and hurried to him. + +Meyer was sounding the floor with a staff of wood--an operation which he +had only just begun after the walls proved barren. + +“Listen now,” he said, letting the heavy staff drop a few paces to the +right of the altar, where it produced the hard, metallic clang that +comes from solid stone when struck. Then he moved to the front of the +altar and dropped it again, but now the note was hollow and reverberant. +Again and again he repeated the experiment, till they had exactly +mapped out where the solid rock ended and that which seemed to be hollow +began--a space of about eight feet square. + +“We’ve got it,” he said triumphantly. “That’s the entrance to the place +where the gold is,” and the others were inclined to agree with him. + +Now it remained to put their theory to the proof--a task of no small +difficulty. Indeed, it took them three days of hard, continual work. +It will be remembered that the floor of the cave was cemented over, and +first of all this cement, which proved to be of excellent quality, being +largely composed of powdered granite, must be broken up. By the help +of a steel crowbar, which they had brought with them in the waggon, +at length that part of their task was completed, revealing the rock +beneath. By this time Benita was confident that, whatever might lie +below, it was not the treasure, since it was evident that the poor, +dying Portuguese would not have had the time or the strength to cement +it over. When she told the others so, however, Meyer, convinced that +he was on the right tack, answered that doubtless it was done by the +Makalanga after the Portuguese days, as it was well known that they +retained a knowledge of the building arts of their forefathers until +quite a recent period, when the Matabele began to kill them out. + +When at length the cement was cleared away and the area swept, they +discovered--for there ran the line of it--that here a great stone was +set into the floor; it must have weighed several tons. As it was set in +cement, however, to lift it, even if they had the strength to work the +necessary levers, proved quite impossible. There remained only one thing +to be done--to cut a way through. When they had worked at this task for +several hours, and only succeeded in making a hole six inches deep, +Mr. Clifford, whose old bones ached and whose hands were very +sore, suggested that perhaps they might break it up with gunpowder. +Accordingly, a pound flask of that explosive was poured into the hole, +which they closed over with wet clay and a heavy rock, leaving a +quill through which ran an extemporized fuse of cotton wick. All being +prepared, their fuse was lit, and they left the cave and waited. + +Five minutes afterwards the dull sound of an explosion reached their +ears, but more than an hour went by before the smoke and fumes would +allow them to enter the place, and then it was to find that the results +did not equal their expectations. To begin with, the slab was only +cracked--not shattered, since the strength of the powder had been +expended upwards, not downwards, as would have happened in the case of +dynamite, of which they had none. Moreover, either the heavy stone +which they had placed upon it, striking the roof of the cave, or the +concussion of the air, had brought down many tons of rock, and caused +wide and dangerous-looking cracks. Also, though she said nothing of it, +it seemed to Benita that the great white statue on the cross was leaning +a little further forward than it used to do. So the net result of the +experiment was that they were obliged to drag away great fragments of +the fallen roof that lay upon the stone, which remained almost as solid +and obdurate as before. + +So there was nothing for it but to go on working with the crowbar. At +length, towards the evening of the third day of their labour, when the +two men were utterly tired out, a hole was broken through, demonstrating +the fact that beneath this cover lay a hollow of some sort. Mr. +Clifford, to say nothing of Benita, who was heartily weary of the +business, wished to postpone proceedings till the morrow, but Jacob +Meyer would not. So they toiled on until about eleven o’clock at night, +when at length the aperture was of sufficient size to admit a man. Now, +as in the case of the well, they let down a stone tied to a string, to +find that the place beneath was not more than eight feet deep. Then, to +ascertain the condition of the air, a candle was lowered, which at first +went out, but presently burnt well enough. This point settled, they +brought their ladder, whereby Jacob descended with a lantern. + +In another minute they heard the sound of guttural German oaths rising +through the hole. Mr. Clifford asked what was the matter, and received +the reply that the place was a tomb, with nothing in it but an accursed +dead monk, information at which Benita could not help bursting into +laughter. + +The end of it was that both she and her father went down also, and +there, sure enough, lay the remains of the old missionary in his cowl, +with an ivory crucifix about his neck, and on his breast a scroll +stating that he, Marco, born at Lisbon in 1438, had died at Bambatse in +the year 1503, having laboured in the Empire of Monomotapa for seventeen +years, and suffered great hardships and brought many souls to Christ. +The scroll added that it was he, who before he entered into religion was +a sculptor by trade, that had fashioned the figure on the cross in this +chapel out of that of the heathen goddess which had stood in the same +place from unknown antiquity. It ended with a request, addressed to all +good Christians in Latin, that they who soon must be as he was would +pray for his soul and not disturb his bones, which rested here in the +hope of a blessed resurrection. + +When this pious wish was translated to Jacob Meyer by Mr. Clifford, who +still retained some recollection of the classics which he had painfully +acquired at Eton and Oxford, the Jew could scarcely contain his wrath. +Indeed, looking at his bleeding hands, instead of praying for the soul +of that excellent missionary, to reach whose remains he had laboured +with such arduous, incessant toil, he cursed it wherever it might be, +and unceremoniously swept the bones, which the document asked him not to +disturb, into a corner of the tomb, in order to ascertain whether there +was not, perhaps, some stair beneath them. + +“Really, Mr. Meyer,” said Benita, who, in spite of the solemnity of the +surroundings, could not control her sense of humour, “if you are not +careful the ghosts of all these people will haunt you.” + +“Let them haunt me if they can,” he answered furiously. “I don’t believe +in ghosts, and defy them all.” + +At this moment, looking up, Benita saw a figure gliding out of the +darkness into the ring of light, so silently that she started, for it +might well have been one of those ghosts in whom Jacob Meyer did not +believe. In fact, however, it was the old Molimo, who had a habit of +coming upon them thus. + +“What says the white man?” he asked of Benita, while his dreamy eyes +wandered over the three of them, and the hole in the violated tomb. + +“He says that he does not believe in spirits, and that he defies them,” + she answered. + +“The white gold-seeker does not believe in spirits, and he defies them,” + Mambo repeated in his sing-song voice. “He does not believe in the +spirits that I see all around me now, the angry spirits of the dead, +who speak together of where he shall lie and of what shall happen to +him when he is dead, and of how they will welcome one who disturbs their +rest and defies and curses them in his search for the riches which he +loves. There is one standing by him now, dressed in a brown robe with a +dead man cut in ivory like to that,” and he pointed to the crucifix in +Jacob’s hands, “and he holds the ivory man above him and threatens him +with sleepless centuries of sorrow, when he is also one of those spirits +in which he does not believe.” + +Then Meyer’s rage blazed out. He turned upon the Molimo and reviled +him in his own tongue, saying that he knew well where the treasure was +hidden, and that if he did not point it out he would kill him and send +him to his friends, the spirits. So savage and evil did he look that +Benita retreated a little way, while Mr. Clifford strove in vain to calm +him. But although Meyer laid his hand upon the knife in his belt and +advanced upon him, the old Molimo neither budged an inch nor showed the +slightest fear. + +“Let him rave on,” he said, when at length Meyer paused exhausted. “Just +so in a time of storm the lightnings flash and the thunder peals, and +the water foams down the face of rock; but then comes the sun again, and +the hill is as it has ever been, only the storm is spent and lost. I +am the rock, he is but the wind, the fire, and the rain. It is not +permitted that he should hurt me, and those spirits in whom he does not +believe treasure up his curses, to let them fall again like stones upon +his head.” + +Then, with a contemptuous glance at Jacob, the old man turned and glided +back into the darkness out of which he had appeared. + + + + +XIII + +BENITA PLANS ESCAPE + +The next morning, while she was cooking breakfast, Benita saw Jacob +Meyer seated upon a rock at a little distance, sullen and disconsolate. +His chin was resting on his hand, and he watched her intently, never +taking his eyes from her face. She felt that he was concentrating his +will upon her; that some new idea concerning her had come into his +mind; for it was one of her miseries that she possessed the power of +interpreting the drift of this man’s thoughts. Much as she detested him, +there existed that curious link between them. + +It may be remembered that, on the night when they first met at the crest +of Leopard’s Kloof, Jacob had called her a “thought-sender,” and some +knowledge of their mental intimacy had come home to Benita. From that +day forward her chief desire had been to shut a door between their +natures, to isolate herself from him and him from her. Yet the attempt +was never entirely successful. + +Fear and disgust took hold of her, bending there above the fire, all +the while aware of the Jew’s dark eyes that searched her through and +through. Benita formed a sudden determination. She would implore her +father to come away with her. + +Of course, such an attempt would be terribly dangerous. Of the Matabele +nothing had been seen; but they might be about, and even if enough +cattle could be collected to draw the waggon, it belonged to Meyer as +much as to her father, and must therefore be left for him. Still, there +remained the two horses, which the Molimo had told her were well and +getting fat. + +At this moment Meyer rose and began to speak to her. + +“What are you thinking of, Miss Clifford?” he asked in his soft foreign +voice. + +She started, but answered readily enough: + +“Of the wood which is green, and the kid cutlets which are getting +smoked. Are you not tired of kid, Mr. Meyer?” she went on. + +He waved the question aside. “You are so good--oh! I mean it--so really +good that you should not tell stories even about small things. The wood +is not green; I cut it myself from a dead tree; and the meat is not +smoked; nor were you thinking of either. You were thinking of me, as I +was thinking of you; but what exactly was in your mind, this time I do +not know, and that is why I ask you to tell me.” + +“Really, Mr. Meyer,” she answered flushing; “my mind is my own +property.” + +“Ah! do you say so? Now I hold otherwise--that it is my property, as +mine is yours, a gift that Nature has given to each of us.” + +“I seek no such gift,” she answered; but even then, much as she would +have wished to do so, she could not utter a falsehood, and deny this +horrible and secret intimacy. + +“I am sorry for that, as I think it very precious; more precious even +than the gold which we cannot find; for Miss Clifford, it brings me +nearer you.” + +She turned upon him, but he held up his hand, and went on: + +“Oh! do not be angry with me, and do not fear that I am going to trouble +you with soft speeches, for I shall not, unless a time should come, as +I think that perhaps it will, when you may wish to listen to them. But I +want to point out something to you, Miss Clifford. Is it not a wonderful +thing that our minds should be so in tune, and is there not an object +in all this? Did I believe as you do, I should say that it was Heaven +working in us--no: do not answer that the working comes from lower down. +I take no credit for reading that upon your lips; the retort is too +easy and obvious. I am content to say, however, that the work is that +of instinct and nature, or, if you will, of fate, pointing out a road by +which together we might travel to great ends.” + +“I travel my road alone, Mr. Meyer.” + +“I know, I know, and that is the pity of it. The trouble between man and +woman is that not in one case out of a million, even if they be lovers, +do they understand each other. Their eyes may seek one another, their +hands and lips may meet, and yet they remain distinct, apart, and often +antagonistic. There is no communication of the soul. But when it chances +to be hewn from the same rock as it were--oh! then what happiness may be +theirs, and what opportunities!” + +“Possibly, Mr. Meyer; but, to be frank, the question does not interest +me.” + +“Not yet; but I am sure that one day it will. Meanwhile, I owe you an +apology. I lost my temper before you last night. Well, do not judge me +hardly, for I was utterly worn out, and that old idiot vexed me with his +talk about ghosts, in which I do not believe.” + +“Then why did it make you so angry? Surely you could have afforded to +treat it with contempt, instead of doing--as you did.” + +“Upon my word! I don’t know, but I suppose most of us are afraid lest we +should be forced to accept that which we refuse. This ancient place gets +upon the nerves, Miss Clifford; yours as well as mine. I can afford +to be open about it, because I know that you know. Think of its +associations: all the crime that has been committed here for ages and +ages, all the suffering that has been endured here. Doubtless human +sacrifices were offered in this cave or outside of it; that great burnt +ring in the rock there may have been where they built the fires. And +then those Portuguese starving to death, slowly starving to death while +thousands of savages watched them die. Have you ever thought what it +means? But of course you have, for like myself you are cursed with +imagination. God in heaven! is it wonderful that it gets upon the +nerves? especially when one cannot find what one is looking for, that +vast treasure”--and his face became ecstatic--“that shall yet be yours +and mine, and make us great and happy.” + +“But which at present only makes me a scullery-maid and most unhappy,” + replied Benita cheerfully, for she heard her father’s footstep. “Don’t +talk any more of the treasure, Mr. Meyer, or we shall quarrel. We have +enough of that during business hours, when we are hunting for it, you +know. Give me the dish, will you? This meat is cooked at last.” + +Still Benita could not be rid of that treasure, since after breakfast +the endless, unprofitable search began again. Once more the cave was +sounded, and other hollow places were discovered upon which the two men +got to work. With infinite labour three of them were broken into in as +many days, and like the first, found to be graves, only this time of +ancients who, perhaps, had died before Christ was born. There they lay +upon their sides, their bones burnt by the hot cement that had been +poured over them, their gold-headed and gold-ferruled rods of office in +their hands, their gold-covered pillows of wood, such as the Egyptians +used, beneath their skulls, gold bracelets upon their arms and ankles, +cakes of gold beneath them which had fallen from the rotted pouches that +once hung about their waists, vases of fine glazed pottery that had +been filled with offerings, or in some cases with gold dust to pay the +expenses of their journey in the other world, standing round them, and +so forth. + +In their way these discoveries were rich enough--from one tomb alone +they took over a hundred and thirty ounces of gold--to say nothing of +their surpassing archæological interest. Still they were not what +they sought: all that gathered wealth of Monomotapa which the fleeing +Portuguese had brought with them and buried in this, their last +stronghold. + +Benita ceased to take the slightest interest in the matter; she would +not even be at the pains to go to look at the third skeleton, although +it was that of a man who had been almost a giant, and, to judge from the +amount of bullion which he took to the tomb with him, a person of +great importance in his day. She felt as though she wished never to see +another human bone or ancient bead or bangle; the sight of a street +in Bayswater in a London fog--yes, or a toy-shop window in Westbourne +Grove--would have pleased her a hundred times better than these unique +remains that, had they known of them in those days, would have sent half +the learned societies of Europe crazy with delight. She wished to escape +from Bambatse, its wondrous fortifications, its mysterious cone, its +cave, its dead, and--from Jacob Meyer. + +Benita stood upon the top of her prison wall and looked with longing at +the wide, open lands below. She even dared to climb the stairs which +ran up the mighty cone of granite, and seated herself in the cup-like +depression on its crest, whence Jacob Meyer had called to her to come +and share his throne. It was a dizzy place, for the pillar leaning +outwards, its point stood almost clear of the water-scarped rock, so +that beneath her was a sheer drop of about four hundred feet to the +Zambesi bed. At first the great height made her feel faint. Her eyes +swam, and unpleasant tremors crept along her spine, so that she was glad +to sink to the floor, whence she knew she could not fall. By degrees, +however, she recovered her nerve, and was able to study the glorious +view of stream and marshes and hills beyond. + +For she had come here with a purpose, to see whether it would not be +possible to escape down the river in a canoe, or in native boats such as +the Makalanga owned and used for fishing, or to cross from bank to bank. +Apparently it was impossible, for although the river beneath and +above them was still enough, about a mile below began a cataract that +stretched as far as she could see, and was bordered on either side by +rocky hills covered with forest, over which, even if they could obtain +porters, a canoe could not be carried. This, indeed, she had already +heard from the Molimo, but knowing his timid nature, she wished to judge +of the matter for herself. It came to this then: if they were to go, it +must be on the horses. + +Descending the cone Benita went to find her father, to whom as yet she +had said nothing of her plans. The opportunity was good, for she knew +that he would be alone. As it chanced, on that afternoon Meyer had gone +down the hill in order to try to persuade the Makalanga to give them +ten or twenty men to help them in their excavations. In this, it will +be remembered, he had already failed so far as the Molimo was concerned, +but he was not a man easily turned from his purpose, and he thought that +if he could see Tamas and some of the other captains he might be able +by bribery, threats, or otherwise, to induce them to forget their +superstitious fears, and help in the search. As a matter of fact, he was +utterly unsuccessful, since one and all they declared that for them to +enter that sacred place would mean their deaths, and that the vengeance +of Heaven would fall upon their tribe and destroy it root and branch. + +Mr. Clifford, on whom all this heavy labour had begun to tell, was +taking advantage of the absence of his taskmaster, Jacob, to sleep +awhile in the hut which they had now built for themselves beneath the +shadow of the baobab-tree. As she reached it he came out yawning, and +asked her where she had been. Benita told him. + +“A giddy place,” he said. “I have never ventured to try it myself. What +did you go up there for, dear?” + +“To look at the river while Mr. Meyer was away, father; for if he had +seen me do so he would have guessed my reason; indeed, I dare say that +he will guess it now.” + +“What reason, Benita?” + +“To see whether it would not be possible to escape down it in a boat. +But there is no chance. It is all rapids below, with hills and rocks and +trees on either bank.” + +“What need have you to escape at present?” he asked, eyeing her +curiously. + +“Every need,” she answered with passion. “I hate this place; it is a +prison, and I loathe the very name of treasure. Also,” and she paused. + +“Also what, dear?” + +“Also,” and her voice sank to a whisper, as though she feared that he +should overhear her even at the bottom of the hill; “also, I am afraid +of Mr. Meyer.” + +This confession did not seem to surprise her father, who merely nodded +his head and said: + +“Go on.” + +“Father, I think that he is going mad, and it is not pleasant for us to +be cooped up here alone with a madman, especially when he has begun to +speak to me as he does now.” + +“You don’t mean that he has been impertinent to you,” said the old man, +flushing up, “for if so----” + +“No, not impertinent--as yet,” and she told him what had passed between +Meyer and herself, adding, “You see, father, I detest this man; indeed, +I want to have nothing to do with any man; for me all that is over and +done with,” and she gave a dry little sob which appeared to come from +her very heart. “And yet, he seems to be getting some kind of power over +me. He follows me about with his eyes, prying into my mind, and I feel +that he is beginning to be able to read it. I can bear no more. Father, +father, for God’s sake, take me away from this hateful hill and its gold +and its dead, and let us get out into the veld again together.” + +“I should be glad enough, dearest,” he answered. “I have had plenty of +this wild-goose chase, which I was so mad as to be led into by the love +of wealth. Indeed, I am beginning to believe that if it goes on much +longer I shall leave my bones here.” + +“And if such a dreadful thing as that were to happen, what would become +of me, alone with Jacob Meyer?” she asked quietly. “I might even be +driven to the same fate as that poor girl two hundred years ago,” and +she pointed to the cone of rock behind her. + +“For Heaven’s sake, don’t talk like that!” he broke in. + +“Why not? One must face things, and it would be better than Jacob Meyer; +for who would protect me here?” + +Mr. Clifford walked up and down for a few minutes, while his daughter +watched him anxiously. + +“I can see no plan,” he said, stopping opposite her. “We cannot take the +waggon even if there are enough oxen left to draw it, for it is his +as much as mine, and I am sure that he will never leave this treasure +unless he is driven away.” + +“And I am sure I hope that he will not. But, father, the horses are our +own; it was his that died, you remember. We can ride away on them.” + +He stared at her and answered: + +“Yes, we could ride away to our deaths. Suppose they got sick or lame; +suppose we meet the Matabele, or could find no game to shoot; suppose +one of us fell ill--oh! and a hundred things. What then?” + +“Why, then it is just as well to perish in the wilderness as here, where +our risks are almost as great. We must take our chance, and trust +to God. Perhaps He will be merciful and help us. Listen now, father. +To-morrow is Sunday, when you and I do no work that we can help. Mr. +Meyer is a Jew, and he won’t waste Sunday. Well now, I will say that I +want to go down to the outer wall to fetch some clothes which I left +in the waggon, and to take others for the native women to wash, and +of course you will come with me. Perhaps he will be deceived, and stay +behind, especially as he has been there to-day. Then we can get the +horses and guns and ammunition, and anything else that we can carry in +the way of food, and persuade the old Molimo to open the gate for us. +You know, the little side gate that cannot be seen from up here, and +before Mr. Meyer misses us and comes to look, we shall be twenty miles +away, and--horses can’t be overtaken by a man on foot.” + +“He will say that we have deserted him, and that will be true.” + +“You can leave a letter with the Molimo explaining that it was my fault, +that I was getting ill and thought that I should die, and that you knew +it would not be fair to ask him to come, and so to lose the treasure, +to every halfpenny of which he is welcome when it is found. Oh! father, +don’t hesitate any longer; say that you will take me away from Mr. +Meyer.” + +“So be it then,” answered Mr. Clifford, and as he spoke, hearing a +sound, they looked up and saw Jacob approaching them. + +Luckily he was so occupied with his own thoughts that he never noted the +guilty air upon their faces, and they had time to compose themselves a +little. But even thus his suspicions were aroused. + +“What are you talking of so earnestly?” he asked. + +“We were wondering how you were getting on with the Makalanga,” answered +Benita, fibbing boldly, “and whether you would persuade them to face the +ghosts. Did you?” + +“Not I,” he answered with a scowl. “Those ghosts are our worst enemies +in this place; the cowards swore that they would rather die. I should +have liked to take some of them at their word and make ghosts of +them; but I remembered the situation and didn’t. Don’t be afraid, Miss +Clifford, I never even lost my temper, outwardly at any rate. Well, +there it is; if they won’t help us, we must work the harder. I’ve got a +new plan, and we’ll begin on it to-morrow.” + +“Not to-morrow, Mr. Meyer,” replied Benita with a smile. “It is Sunday, +and we rest on Sunday, you know.” + +“Oh! I forgot. The Makalanga with their ghosts and you with your +Sunday--really I do not know which is the worse. Well, then, I must do +my own share and yours too, I suppose,” and he turned with a shrug of +his shoulders. + + + + +XIV + +THE FLIGHT + +The next morning, Sunday, Meyer went to work on his new plan. What it +was Benita did not trouble to inquire, but she gathered that it had +something to do with the measuring out of the chapel cave into squares +for the more systematic investigation of each area. At twelve o’clock he +emerged for his midday meal, in the course of which he remarked that it +was very dreary working in that place alone, and that he would be glad +when it was Monday, and they could accompany him. His words evidently +disturbed Mr. Clifford not a little, and even excited some compunction +in the breast of Benita. + +What would his feelings be, she wondered, when he found that they +had run away, leaving him to deal with their joint undertaking +single-handed! Almost was she minded to tell him the whole truth; +yet--and this was a curious evidence of the man’s ascendancy over +her--she did not. Perhaps she felt that to do so would be to put an end +to their scheme, since then by argument, blandishments, threats, force, +or appeal to their sense of loyalty, it mattered not which, he would +bring about its abandonment. But she wanted to fulfil that scheme, to +be free of Bambatse, its immemorial ruins, its graveyard cave, and +the ghoul, Jacob Meyer, who could delve among dead bones and in living +hearts with equal skill and insight, and yet was unable to find the +treasure that lay beneath either of them. + +So they hid the truth, and talked with feverish activity about other +things, such as the drilling of the Makalanga, and the chances of an +attack by the Matabele, which happily now seemed to be growing small; +also of the conditions of their cattle, and the prospect of obtaining +more to replace those that had died. Indeed, Benita went farther; in her +new-found zeal of deception she proceeded to act a lie, yes, even with +her father’s reproachful eyes fixed upon her. Incidentally she mentioned +that they were going to have an outing, to climb down the ladder and +visit the Makalanga camp between the first and second walls and mix with +the great world for a few hours; also to carry their washing to be done +there, and bring up some clean clothes and certain books which she had +left below. + +Jacob came out of his thoughts and calculations, and listened gloomily. + +“I have half a mind to come with you,” he said, words at which Benita +shivered. “It certainly is most cursed lonesome in that cave, and I seem +to hear things in it, as though those old bones were rattling, sounds +like sighs and whispers too, which are made by the draught.” + +“Well, why don’t you?” asked Benita. + +It was a bold stroke, but it succeeded. If he had any doubts they +vanished, and he answered at once: + +“Because I have not the time. We have to get this business finished one +way or another before the wet season comes on, and we are drowned out of +the place with rain, or rotted by fever. Take your afternoon out, Miss +Clifford; every maid of all work is entitled to as much, and I am afraid +that is your billet here. Only,” he added, with that care for her safety +which he always showed in his more temperate moods, “pray be careful, +Clifford, to get back before sundown. That wall is too risky for your +daughter to climb in the dusk. Call me from the foot of it; you have the +whistle, and I will come down to help her up. I think I’ll go with you +after all. No, I won’t. I made myself so unpleasant to them yesterday +that those Makalanga can’t wish to see any more of me at present. I hope +you will have a more agreeable afternoon than I shall. Why don’t you +take a ride outside the wall? Your horses are fat and want exercise, and +I do not think that you need be afraid of the Matabele.” Then without +waiting for an answer, he rose and left them. + +Mr. Clifford looked after him doubtfully. + +“Oh, I know,” said Benita, “it seems horribly mean, but one must do +shabby things sometimes. Here are the bundles all ready, so let us be +off.” + +Accordingly they went, and from the top of the wall Benita glanced back +to bid goodbye to that place which she hoped never to see again. Yet she +could not feel as though she looked her last upon it; to her it wore +no air of farewell, and even as she descended the perilous stairs, she +found herself making mental notes as to how they might best be climbed +again. Also, she could not believe that she had done with Mr. Meyer. It +seemed to her as though for a long while yet her future would be full of +him. + +They reached the outer fortifications in safety, and there were greeted +with some surprise but with no displeasure by the Makalanga, whom they +found still drilling with the rifles, in the use of which a certain +number of them appeared to have become fairly proficient. Going to +the hut in which the spare goods from the waggon had been stored, they +quickly made their preparations. Here also, Mr. Clifford wrote a letter, +one of the most unpleasant that he had ever been called upon to compose. +It ran thus: + +“Dear Meyer, + +“I don’t know what you will think of us, but we are escaping from this +place. The truth is that I am not well, and my daughter can bear it no +longer. She says that if she stops here, she will die, and that hunting +for treasure in that ghastly grave-yard is shattering her nerves. I +should have liked to tell you, but she begged me not, being convinced +that if I did, you would over-persuade us or stop us in some way. As for +the gold, if you can find it, take it all. I renounce my share. We are +leaving you the waggon and the oxen, and starting down country on our +horses. It is a perilous business, but less so than staying here, under +the circumstances. If we never meet again we hope that you will forgive +us, and wish you all good fortune.--Yours sincerely and with much +regret, + +“T. Clifford.” + + +The letter written, they saddled the horses which had been brought up +for their inspection, and were found to be in good case, and fastened +their scanty belongings, and as many cartridges as they could carry in +packs behind their saddles. Then, each of them armed with a rifle--for +during their long journeyings Benita had learned to shoot--they mounted +and made for the little side-entrance, as the main gate through which +they had passed on their arrival was now built up. This side-entrance, a +mere slit in the great wall, with a precipitous approach, was open, for +now that their fear of the Matabele had to some extent passed off, the +Makalanga used it to drive their sheep and goats in and out, since it +was so constructed with several twists and turns in the thickness of the +wall, that in a few minutes it could be effectually blocked by stones +that lay at hand. Also, the ancient architect had arranged it in such +a fashion that it was entirely commanded from the crest of the wall on +either side. + +The Makalanga, who had been watching their proceedings curiously, made +no attempt to stop them, although they guessed that they might have a +little trouble with the sentries who guarded the entrances all day, and +even when it was closed at night, with whom also Mr. Clifford proposed +to leave the letter. When they reached the place, however, and had +dismounted to lead the horses down the winding passage and the steep +ascent upon its further side, it was to find that the only guard visible +proved to be the old Molimo himself, who sat there, apparently half +asleep. + +But as they came he showed himself to be very much awake, for without +moving he asked them at once whither they were going. + +“To take a ride,” answered Mr. Clifford. “The lady, my daughter, is +weary of being cooped up in this fortress, and wishes to breathe the air +without. Let us pass, friend, or we shall not be back by sunset.” + +“If you be coming back at sunset, white man, why do you carry so +many things upon your packs, and why are your saddle-bags filled with +cartridges?” he asked. “Surely you do not speak the truth to me, and you +hope that never more will you see the sun set upon Bambatse.” + +Now understanding that it was hopeless to deceive him, Benita exclaimed +boldly: + +“It is so; but oh! my Father, stay us not, for fear is behind us, and +therefore we fly hence.” + +“And is there no fear before you, maiden? Fear of the wilderness, where +none wander save perchance the Amandabele with their bloody spears; fear +of wild beasts and of sickness that may overtake you so that, first one +and then the other, you perish there?” + +“There is plenty, my Father, but none of them so bad as the fear behind. +Yonder place is haunted, and we give up our search and would dwell there +no more.” + +“It is haunted truly, maiden, but its spirits will not harm you whom +they welcome as one appointed, and we are ever ready to protect you +because of their command that has come to me in dreams. Nor, indeed, is +it the spirits whom you fear, but rather the white man, your companion, +who would bend you to his will. Deny it not, for I have seen it all.” + +“Then knowing the truth, surely you will let us go,” she pleaded, “for I +swear to you that I dare not stay.” + +“Who am I that I should forbid you?” he asked. “Yet I tell you that you +would do well to stay and save yourselves much terror. Maiden, have +I not said it days and days ago, that here and here only you must +accomplish your fate? Go now if you will, but you shall return again,” + and once more he seemed to begin to doze in the sun. + +The two of them consulted hastily together. + +“It is no use turning back now,” said Benita, who was almost weeping +with doubt and vexation. “I will not be frightened by his vague talk. +What can he know of the future more than any of the rest of us? Besides, +all he says is that we shall come back again, and if that does happen, +at least we shall have been free for a little while. Come, father.” + +“As you wish,” answered Mr. Clifford, who seemed too miserable and +depressed to argue. Only he threw down the letter upon the Molimo’s lap, +and begged him to give it to Meyer when he came to look for them. + +The old man took no notice; no, not even when Benita bade him farewell +and thanked him for his kindness, praying that all good fortune might +attend him and his tribe, did he answer a single word or even look +up. So they led their horses down the narrow passage where there was +scarcely room for them to pass, and up the steep path beyond. On +the further side of the ancient ditch they remounted them while the +Makalanga watched them from the walls, and cantered away along the same +road by which they had come. + +Now this road, or rather track, ran first through the gardens and then +among the countless ruined houses that in bygone ages formed the great +city whereof the mount Bambatse had been the citadel and sanctuary. +The relics of a lost civilization extended for several miles, and were +bounded by a steep and narrow neck or pass in the encircling hills, the +same that Robert Seymour and his brother had found too difficult for +their waggon at the season in which they visited the place some years +before. This pass, or port as it is called in South Africa, had been +strongly fortified, for on either side of it were the ruins of towers. +Moreover, at its crest it was so narrow and steep-sided that a few men +posted there, even if they were armed only with bows and arrows, could +hold an attacking force in check for a considerable time. Beyond it, +after the hill was descended, a bush-clad plain dotted with kopjes and +isolated granite pillars formed of boulders piled one upon another, +rolled away for many miles. + +Mr. Clifford and Benita had started upon their mad journey about three +o’clock in the afternoon, and when the sun began to set they found +themselves upon this plain fifteen or sixteen miles from Bambatse, of +which they had long lost sight, for it lay beyond the intervening hills. +Near to them was a kopje, where they had outspanned by a spring of water +when on their recent journey, and since they did not dare to travel in +the dark, here they determined to off-saddle, for round this spring was +good grass for the horses. + +As it chanced, they came upon some hartebeeste here which were trekking +down to drink, but although they would have been glad of meat, they were +afraid to shoot, fearing lest they should attract attention; nor for the +same reason did they like to light a fire. So having knee-haltered the +horses in such fashion that they could not wander far, and turned them +loose to feed, they sat down under a tree, and made some sort of a meal +off the biltong and cooked corn which they had brought with them. By the +time this was finished darkness fell, for there was little moon, so that +nothing remained to do except to sleep within a circle of a few dead +thorn-boughs which they had drawn about their camp. This, then, they +did, and so weary were they both, that notwithstanding all the emotions +through which they had passed, and their fears lest lions should attack +them--for of these brutes there were many in this veld--rested soundly +and undisturbed till within half an hour of dawn. + +Rising somewhat chilled, for though the air was warm a heavy dew had +soaked their blankets, once more they ate and drank by starlight, while +the horses, which they had tied up close to them during the night, +filled themselves with grass. At the first break of day they saddled +them, and before the sun rose were on their road again. At length up +it came, and the sight and warmth of it put new heart into Benita. Her +fears seemed to depart with the night, and she said to her father that +this successful start was of good augury, to which he only answered that +he hoped so. + +All that day they rode forward in beautiful weather, not pressing their +horses, for now they were sure that Jacob Meyer, who if he followed at +all must do so on foot, would never be able to overtake them. At noon +they halted, and having shot a small buck, Benita cooked some of it in +the one pot that they had brought with them, and they ate a good meal of +fresh meat. + +Riding on again, towards sundown they came to another of their old +camping-places, also a bush-covered kopje. Here the spring of water +was more than halfway up the hill, so there they off-saddled in a green +bower of a place that because of its ferns and mosses looked like a rock +garden. Now, although they had enough cold meat for food, they thought +themselves quite safe in lighting a fire. Indeed, this it seemed +necessary to do, since they had struck the fresh spoor of lions, and +even caught sight of one galloping away in the tall reeds on the marshy +land at the foot of the hill. + +That evening they fared sumptuously upon venison, and as on the previous +day lay down to rest in a little “boma” or fence made of boughs. But +they were not allowed to sleep well this night, for scarcely had they +shut their eyes when a hyena began to howl about them. They shouted +and the brute went away, but an hour or two later, they heard ominous +grunting sounds, followed presently by a loud roar, which was answered +by another roar, whereat the horses began to whinny in a frightened +fashion. + +“Lions!” said Mr. Clifford, jumping up and throwing dead wood on the +fire till it burnt to a bright blaze. + +After that all sleep became impossible, for although the lions did not +attack them, having once winded the horses they would not go away, but +continued wandering round the kopje, grunting and growling. This went +on till abut three o’clock in the morning, when at last the beasts took +their departure, for they heard them roaring in the distance. Now that +they seemed safe, having first made up the fire, they tried to get some +rest. + +When, as it appeared to her, Benita had been asleep but a little while, +she was awakened by a new noise. It was still dark, but the starlight +showed her that the horses were quite quiet; indeed, one of them was +lying down, and the other eating some green leaves from the branches +of the tree to which it was tethered. Therefore that noise had not come +from any wild animal of which they were afraid. She listened intently, +and presently heard it again; it was a murmur like to that of people +talking somewhere at the bottom of the hill. Then she woke her father +and told him, but although once or twice they thought they heard the +sound of footsteps, nothing else could be distinguished. Still they +rose, and having saddled and bridled the horses as noiselessly as might +be, waited for the dawn. + +At last it came. Up on the side of the kopje they were in clear air, +above which shone the red lights of morning, but under them lay billows +of dense, pearl-hued mist. By degrees this thinned beneath the rays of +the risen sun, and through it, looking gigantic in that light, Benita +saw a savage wrapped in a kaross, who was walking up and down and +yawning, a great spear in his hand. + +“Look,” she whispered, “look!” and Mr. Clifford stared down the line of +her outstretched finger. + +“The Matabele,” he said. “My God! the Matabele!” + + + + +XV + +THE CHASE + +The Matabele it was, sure enough; there could be no doubt of it, for +soon three other men joined the sentry and began to talk with him, +pointing with their great spears at the side of the hill. Evidently they +were arranging a surprise when there was sufficient light to carry it +out. + +“They have seen our fire,” whispered her father to Benita; “now, if +we wish to save our lives, there is only one thing to do--ride for it +before they muster. The impi will be camped upon the other side of the +hill, so we must take the road we came by.” + +“That runs back to Bambatse,” faltered Benita. + +“Bambatse is better than the grave,” said her father. “Pray Heaven that +we may get there.” + +To this argument there was no answer, so having drunk a sup of water, +and swallowing a few mouthfuls of food as they went, they crept to the +horses, mounted them, and as silently as possible began to ride down the +hill. + +The sentry was alone again, the other three men having departed. He +stood with his back towards them. Presently when they were quite close +on to him, he heard their horses’ hoofs upon the grass, wheeled round at +the sound, and saw them. Then with a great shout he lifted his spear and +charged. + +Mr. Clifford, who was leading, held out his rifle at arm’s length--to +raise it to his shoulder he had no time--and pulled the trigger. Benita +heard the bullet clap upon the hide shield, and next instant saw the +Matabele warrior lying on his back, beating the air with his hands and +feet. Also, she saw beyond the shoulder of the kopje, which they were +rounding, hundreds of men marching, and behind them a herd of cattle, +the dim light gleaming upon the stabbing spears and on the horns of the +oxen. She glanced to the right, and there were more men. The two wings +of the impi were closing upon them. Only a little lane was left in the +middle. They must get through before it shut. + +“Come,” she gasped, striking the horse with her heel and the butt of her +gun, and jerking at its mouth. + +Her father saw also, and did likewise, so that the beasts broke into a +gallop. Now from the point of each wing sprang out thin lines of men, +looking like great horns, or nippers, whose business it was to meet and +cut them off. Could they pass between them before they did meet? That +was the question, and upon its answer it depended whether or no they had +another three minutes to live. To think of mercy at the hands of these +bloodthirsty brutes, after they had just killed one of their number +before their eyes, was absurd. It was true he had been shot in +self-defence; but what count would savages take of that, or of the +fact that they were but harmless travellers? White people were not very +popular with the Matabele just then, as they knew well; also, their +murder in this remote place, with not another of their race within a +couple of hundred miles, would never even be reported, and much less +avenged. It was as safe as any crime could possibly be. + +All this passed through their minds as they galloped towards those +closing points. Oh! the horror of it! But two hundred yards to cover, +and their fate would be decided. Either they would have escaped at least +for a while, or time would be done with them; or, a third alternative, +they might be taken prisoners, in all probability a yet more dreadful +doom. Even then Benita determined that if she could help it this should +not befall her. She had the rifle and the revolver that Jacob Meyer had +given her. Surely she would be able to find a moment to use one or the +other upon herself. She clenched her teeth, and struck the horse again +and again, so that now they flew along. The Matabele soldiers were +running their best to catch them, and if these had been given but +five seconds of start, caught they must have been. But that short five +seconds saved their lives. + +When they rushed through them the foremost men of the nippers were not +more than twenty yards apart. Seeing that they had passed, these halted +and hurled a shower of spears after them. One flashed by Benita’s cheek, +a line of light; she felt the wind of it. Another cut her dress, and +a third struck her father’s horse in the near hind leg just above the +knee-joint, remaining fast there for a stride or two, and then falling +to the ground. At first the beast did not seem to be incommoded by this +wound; indeed, it only caused it to gallop quicker, and Benita rejoiced, +thinking that it was but a scratch. Then she forgot about it, for some +of the Matabele, who had guns, began to shoot them, and although their +marksmanship was vile, one or two of the bullets went nearer than was +pleasant. Lastly a man, the swiftest runner of them all, shouted after +them in Zulu: + +“The horse is wounded. We will catch you both before the sun sets.” + +Then they passed over the crest of a rise and lost sight of them for a +while. + +“Thank God!” gasped Benita when they were alone again in the silent +veld; but Mr. Clifford shook his head. + +“Do you think they will follow us?” she asked. + +“You heard what the fellow said,” he answered evasively. “Doubtless they +are on their way to attack Bambatse, and have been round to destroy some +other wretched tribe, and steal the cattle which we saw. Yes, I fear +that they will follow. The question is, which of us can get to Bambatse +first.” + +“Surely we ought to on the horses, father.” + +“Yes, if nothing happens to them,” and as he spoke the words the mare +which he was riding dropped sharply upon her hind leg, the same that had +been struck with the spear; then recovered herself and galloped on. + +“Did you see that?” he asked. + +She nodded; then said: + +“Shall we get off and look at the cut?” + +“Certainly not,” he answered. “Our only chance is to keep her moving; +if once the wound stiffens, there’s an end. The sinew cannot have been +severed, or it would have come before now.” + +So they pushed on. + +All that morning did they canter forward wherever the ground was smooth +enough to allow them to do so, and notwithstanding the increasing +lameness of Mr. Clifford’s mare, made such good progress that by midday +they reached the place where they had passed the first night after +leaving Bambatse. Here sheer fatigue and want of water forced them to +stop a little while. They dismounted and drank greedily from the +spring, after which they allowed the horses to drink also; indeed it was +impossible to keep them away from the water. Then they ate a little, not +because they desired food, but to keep up their strength, and while +they did so examined the mare. By now her hind leg was much swollen, and +blood still ran from the gash made by the assegai. Moreover, the limb +was drawn up so that the point of the hoof only rested on the ground. + +“We must get on before it sets fast,” said Mr. Clifford, and they +mounted again. + +Great heavens! what was this? The mare would not stir. In his despair +Mr. Clifford beat it cruelly, whereupon the poor brute hobbled forward +a few paces on three legs, and again came to a standstill. Either an +injured sinew had given or the inflammation was now so intense that it +could not bend its knee. Understanding what this meant to them, Benita’s +nerve gave out at last, and she burst into weeping. + +“Don’t cry, love,” he said. “God’s will be done. Perhaps they have given +up the hunt by now; at any rate, my legs are left, and Bambatse is +not more than sixteen miles away. Forward now,” and holding to her +saddle-strap they went up the long, long slope which led to the poort in +the hills around Bambatse. + +They would have liked to shoot the mare, but being afraid to fire a +rifle, could not do so. So they left the unhappy beast to its fate, and +with it everything it carried, except a few of the cartridges. Before +they went, however, at Benita’s prayer, her father devoted a few seconds +to unbuckling the girths and pulling off the bridle, so that it might +have a chance of life. For a little way it hobbled after them on three +legs, then, the saddle still upon its back, stood whinnying piteously, +till at last, to Benita’s intense relief, a turn in their path hid it +from their sight. + +Half a mile further on she looked round in the faint hope that it +might have recovered itself and followed. But no mare was to be seen. +Something else was to be seen, however, for there, three or four miles +away upon the plain behind them, easy to be distinguished in that +dazzling air, were a number of black spots that occasionally seemed to +sparkle. + +“What are they?” she asked faintly, as one who feared the answer. + +“The Matabele who follow us,” answered her father, “or rather a company +of their swiftest runners. It is their spears that glitter so. Now, +my love, this is the position,” he went on, as they struggled forward: +“those men will catch us before ever we can get to Bambatse; they are +trained to run like that, for fifty miles, if need be. But with this +start they cannot catch your horse, you must go on and leave me to look +after myself.” + +“Never, never!” she exclaimed. + +“But you shall, and you must. I am your father and I order you. As for +me, what does it matter? I may hide from them and escape, or--at least I +am old, my life is done, whereas yours is before you. Now, good-bye, and +go on,” and he let go of the saddle-strap. + +By way of answer Benita pulled up the horse. + +“Not one yard,” she said, setting her mouth. + +Then he began to storm at her, calling her disobedient, and undutiful, +and when this means failed to move her, to implore her almost with +tears. + +“Father, dear,” she said, leaning down towards him as he walked, for +now they were going on again, “I told you why I wanted to run away from +Bambatse, didn’t I?--because I would rather risk my life than stay. +Well, do you think that I wish to return there and live in that place +alone with Jacob Meyer? Also, I will tell you another thing. You +remember about Mr. Seymour? Well, I can’t get over that; I can’t get +over it at all, and therefore, although of course I am afraid, it is all +one to me. No, we will escape together, or die together; the first if we +can.” + +Then with a groan he gave up the argument, and as he found breath they +discussed their chances. Their first idea was to hide, but save for a +few trees all the country was open; there was no place to cover them. +They thought of the banks of the Zambesi, but between them and the river +rose a bare, rock-strewn hill with several miles of slope. Long before +they could reach its crest, even if a horse were able to travel there, +they must be overtaken. In short, there was nothing to do except to push +for the nek, and if they were fortunate enough to reach it before the +Matabele, to abandon the horse there and try to conceal themselves among +the ruins of the houses beyond. This, perhaps, they might do when once +the sun was down. + +But they did not deceive themselves; the chances were at least fifty to +one against them, unless indeed their pursuers grew weary and let them +go. + +At present, however, they were by no means weary, for having perceived +them from far away, the long-legged runners put on the pace, and the +distance between them and their quarry was lessening. + +“Father,” said Benita, “please understand one thing. I do not mean to be +taken alive by those savages.” + +“Oh! how can I----” he faltered. + +“I don’t ask you,” she answered. “I will see to that myself. Only, if I +should make any mistake----” and she looked at him. + +The old man was getting very tired. He panted up the steep hillside, +and stumbled against the stones. Benita noted it, and slipping from the +horse, made him mount while she ran alongside. Then when he was a +little rested they changed places again, and so covered several miles +of country. Subsequently, when both of them were nearly exhausted, they +tried riding together--she in front and he behind, for their baggage had +long since been thrown away. But the weary beast could not carry this +double burden, and after a few hundred yards of it, stumbled, fell, +struggled to its feet again, and stopped. + +So once more they were obliged to ride and walk alternately. + +Now there was not much more than an hour of daylight left, and the +narrow pass lay about three miles ahead of them. That dreadful three +miles; ever thereafter it was Benita’s favourite nightmare! At the +beginning of it the leading Matabele were about two thousand yards +behind them; half-way, about a thousand; and at the commencement of the +last mile, say five hundred. + +Nature is a wonderful thing, and great are its resources in extremity. +As the actual crisis approached, the weariness of these two seemed to +depart, or at any rate it was forgotten. They no longer felt exhausted, +nor, had they been fresh from their beds, could they have climbed or run +better. Even the horse seemed to find new energy, and when it lagged +Mr. Clifford dug the point of his hunting knife into its flank. Gasping, +panting, now one mounted and now the other, they struggled on towards +that crest of rock, while behind them came death in the shape of those +sleuth-hounds of Matabele. The sun was going down, and against its +flaming ball, when they glanced back they could see their dark forms +outlined; the broad spears also looked red as though they had been +dipped in blood. They could even hear their taunting shouts as they +called to them to sit down and be killed, and save trouble. + +Now they were not three hundred yards away, and the crest of the pass +was still half a mile ahead. Five minutes passed, and here, where the +track was very rough, the horse blundered upwards slowly. Mr. Clifford +was riding at the time, and Benita running at his side, holding to the +stirrup leather. She looked behind her. The savages, fearing that their +victims might find shelter over the hill, were making a rush, and +the horse could go no faster. One man, a great tall fellow, quite +out-distanced his companions. Two minutes more and he was not over a +hundred paces from them, a little nearer than they were to the top of +the pass. Then the horse stopped and refused to stir any more. + +Mr. Clifford jumped from the saddle, and Benita, who could not speak, +pointed to the pursuing Matabele. He sat down upon a rock, cocked his +rifle, took a deep breath, and aimed and fired at the soldier who was +coming on carelessly in the open. Mr. Clifford was a good shot, and +shaken though he was, at this supreme moment his skill did not fail +him. The man was struck somewhere, for he staggered about and fell; +then slowly picked himself up, and began to hobble back towards his +companions, who, when they met him, stopped a minute to give him some +kind of assistance. + +That halt proved their salvation, for it gave them time to make one last +despairing rush, and gain the brow of the poort. Not that this would +have saved them, however, since where they could go the Matabele could +follow, and there was still light by which the pursuers would have been +able to see to catch them. Indeed, the savages, having laid down the +wounded man, came on with a yell of rage, fifty or more of them. + +Over the pass father and daughter struggled, Benita riding; after them, +perhaps sixty yards away, ran the Matabele, gathered in a knot now upon +the narrow, ancient road, bordered by steep hillsides. + +Then suddenly from all about them, as it appeared to Benita, broke +out the blaze and roar of rifles, rapid and continuous. Down went the +Matabele by twos and threes, till at last it seemed as though but quite +a few of them were left upon their feet, and those came on no more; +they turned and fled from the neck of the narrow pass to the open slope +beyond. + +Benita sank to the ground, and the next thing that she could remember +was hearing the soft voice of Jacob Meyer, who said: + +“So you have returned from your ride, Miss Clifford, and perhaps it was +as well that the thought came from you to me that you wished me to meet +you here in this very place.” + + + + +XVI + +BACK AT BAMBATSE + +How they reached Bambatse Benita never could remember, but afterwards +she was told that both she and her father were carried upon litters made +of ox-hide shields. When she came to her own mind again, it was to find +herself lying in her tent outside the mouth of the cave within the +third enclosure of the temple-fortress. Her feet were sore and her bones +ached, physical discomforts that brought back to her in a flash all the +terrors through which she had passed. + +Again she saw the fierce pursuing Matabele; again heard their cruel +shouts and the answering crack of the rifles; again, amidst the din and +the gathering darkness, distinguished the gentle, foreign voice of Meyer +speaking his words of sarcastic greeting. Next oblivion fell upon her, +and after it a dim memory of being helped up the hill with the sun +pouring on her back and assisted to climb the steep steps of the wall by +means of a rope placed around her. Then forgetfulness again. + +The flap of her tent was drawn aside and she shrank back upon her bed, +shutting her eyes for fear lest they should fall upon the face of Jacob +Meyer. Feeling that it was not he, or learning it perhaps from the +footfall, she opened them a little, peeping at her visitor from between +her long lashes. He proved to be--not Jacob or her father, but the old +Molimo, who stood beside her holding in his hand a gourd filled with +goat’s milk. Then she sat up and smiled at him, for Benita had grown +very fond of this ancient man, who was so unlike anyone that she had +ever met. + +“Greeting, Lady,” he said softly, smiling back at her with his lips and +dreamy eyes, for his old face did not seem to move beneath its thousand +wrinkles. “I bring you milk. Drink; it is fresh and you need food.” + +So she took the gourd and drank to the last drop, for it seemed to her +that she had never tasted anything so delicious. + +“Good, good,” murmured the Molimo; “now you will be well again.” + +“Yes, I shall get well,” she answered; “but oh! what of my father?” + +“Fear not; he is still sick, but he will recover also. You shall see him +soon.” + +“I have drunk all the milk,” she broke out; “there is none left for +him.” + +“Plenty, plenty,” he answered, waving his thin hand. “There are two cups +full--one for each. We have not many she-goats down below, but the best +of their milk is saved for you.” + +“Tell me all that has happened, Father,” and the old priest, who liked +her to call him by that name, smiled again with his eyes, and squatted +down in the corner of the tent. + +“You went away, you remember that you would go, although I told you +that you must come back. You refused my wisdom and you went, and I have +learned all that befell you and how you two escaped the impi. Well, that +night after sunset, when you did not return, came the Black One--yes, +yes, I mean Meyer, whom we name so because of his beard, and,” he added +deliberately, “his heart. He came running down the hill asking for you, +and I gave him the letter. + +“He read it, and oh! then he went mad. He cursed in his own tongue; he +threw himself about; he took a rifle and wished to shoot me, but I sat +silent and looked at him till he grew quiet. Then he asked why I had +played him this trick, but I answered that it was no trick of mine who +had no right to keep you and your father prisoners against your will, +and that I thought you had gone away because you were afraid of him, +which was not wonderful if that was how he talked to you. I told him, +too, I who am a doctor, that unless he was careful he would go mad; that +already I saw madness in his eye; after which he became quiet, for my +words frightened him. Then he asked what could be done, and I said--that +night, nothing, since you must be far away, so that it would be useless +to follow you, but better to go to meet you when you came back. He asked +what I meant by your coming back, and I answered that I meant what I +said, that you would come back in great haste and peril--although you +would not believe me when I told you so--for I had it from the Munwali +whose child you are. + +“So I sent out my spies, and that night went by, and the next day and +night went by, and we sat still and did nothing, though the Black One +wished to wander out alone after you. But on the following morning, at +the dawn, a messenger came in who reported that it had been called to +him by his brethren who were hidden upon hilltops and in other places +for miles and miles, that the Matabele impi, having destroyed another +family of the Makalanga far down the Zambesi, was advancing to destroy +us also. And in the afternoon came a second spy, who reported that you +two had been surrounded by the impi, but had broken through them, and +were riding hitherward for your lives. Then I took fifty of the best +of our people and put them under the command of Tamas, my son, and sent +them to ambush the pass, for against the Matabele warriors on the plain +we, who are not warlike, do not dare to fight. + +“The Black One went with them, and when he saw how sore was your strait, +wished to run down to meet the Matabele, for he is a brave man. But I +had said to Tamas--‘No, do not try to fight them in the open, for there +they will certainly kill you.’ Moreover, Lady, I was sure that you would +reach the top of the poort. Well, you reached it, though but by the +breadth of a blade of grass, and my children shot with the new rifles, +and the place being narrow so that they could not miss, killed many of +those hyenas of Amandabele. But to kill Matabele is like catching fleas +on a dog’s back: there are always more. Still it served its turn, you +and your father were brought away safely, and we lost no one.” + +“Where, then, are the Matabele now?” asked Benita. + +“Outside our walls, a whole regiment of them: three thousand men or +more, under the command of the Captain Maduna, he of the royal blood, +whose life you begged, but who nevertheless hunted you like a buck.” + +“Perhaps he did not know who it was,” suggested Benita. + +“Perhaps not,” the Molimo answered, rubbing his chin, “for in such +matters even a Matabele generally keeps faith, and you may remember he +promised you life for life. However, they are here ravening like lions +round the walls, and that is why we carried you up to the top of the +hill, that you might be safe from them.” + +“But are you safe, my Father?” + +“I think so,” he replied with a dry little chuckle in his throat. +“Whoever built this fortress built it strong, and we have blocked the +gates. Also, they caught no one outside; all are within the walls, +together with the sheep and goats. Lastly, we have sent most of the +women and children across the Zambesi in canoes, to hide in places we +know of whither the Amandabele cannot follow, for they dare not swim +a river. Therefore, for those of us that remain we have food for three +months, and before then the rains will drive the impi out.” + +“Why did you not all go across the river, Father?” + +“For two reasons, Lady. The first is, that if we once abandoned our +stronghold, which we have held from the beginning, Lobengula would take +it, and keep it, so that we could never re-enter into our heritage, +which would be a shame to us and bring down the vengeance of the +spirits of our ancestors upon our heads. The second is, that as you have +returned to us we stay to protect you.” + +“You are very good to me,” murmured Benita. + +“Nay, nay, we brought you here, and we do what I am told to do from +Above. Trouble may still come upon you; yes, I think that it will come, +but once more I pray you, have no fear, for out of this evil root shall +spring a flower of joy,” and he rose to go. + +“Stay,” said Benita. “Has the chief Meyer found the gold?” + +“No; he has found nothing; but he hunts and hunts like a hungry jackal +digging for a bone. But that bone is not for him; it is for you, Lady, +you and you only. Oh! I know, you do not seek, still you shall find. +Only the next time that you want help, do not run away into the +wilderness. Hear the word of Munwali given by his mouth, the Molimo of +Bambatse!” And as he spoke, the old priest backed himself out of the +tent, stopping now and again to bow to Benita. + +A few minutes later her father entered, looking very weak and shaken, +and supporting himself upon a stick. Happy was the greeting of these +two who, with their arms about each other’s neck, gave thanks for their +escape from great peril. + +“You see, Benita, we can’t get away from this place,” Mr. Clifford said +presently. “We must find that gold.” + +“Bother the gold,” she answered with energy; “I hate its very name. Who +can think of gold with three thousand Matabele waiting to kill us?” + +“Somehow I don’t feel afraid of them any more,” said her father; “they +have had their chance and lost it, and the Makalanga swear that now they +have guns to command the gates, the fortress cannot be stormed. Still, I +am afraid of someone.” + +“Who?” + +“Jacob Mayer. I have seen him several times, and I think that he is +going mad.” + +“The Molimo said that too, but why?” + +“From the look of him. He sits about muttering and glowing with those +dark eyes of his, and sometimes groans, and sometimes bursts into shouts +of laughter. That is when the fit is on him, for generally he seems +right enough. But get up if you think you can, and you shall judge for +yourself.” + +“I don’t want to,” said Benita feebly. “Father, I am more afraid of him +now than ever. Oh! why did you not let me stop down below, among the +Makalanga, instead of carrying me up here again, where we must live +alone with that terrible Jew?” + +“I wished to, dear, but the Molimo said we should be safer above, and +ordered his people to carry you up. Also, Jacob swore that unless you +were brought back he would kill me. Now you understand why I believe +that he is mad.” + +“Why, why?” gasped Benita again. + +“God knows,” he answered with a groan; “but I think that he is sure that +we shall never find the gold without you, since the Molimo has told him +that it is for you and you alone, and he says the old man has second +sight, or something of the sort. Well, he would have murdered me--I saw +it in his eye--so I thought it better to give in rather than that you +should be left here sick and alone. Of course there was one way----” and +he paused. + +She looked at him and asked: + +“What way?” + +“To shoot him before he shot me,” he answered in a whisper, “for your +sake, dear--but I could not bring myself to do it.” + +“No,” she said with a shudder, “not that--not that. Better that we +should die than that his blood should be upon our hands. Now I will get +up and try to show no fear. I am sure that is best, and perhaps we shall +be able to escape somehow. Meanwhile, let us humour him, and pretend to +go on looking for this horrible treasure.” + +So Benita rose to discover that, save for her stiffness, she was but +little the worse, and finding all things placed in readiness, set to +work with her father’s help to cook the evening meal as usual. Of Meyer, +who doubtless had placed things in readiness, she saw nothing. + +Before nightfall he came, however, as she knew he would. Indeed, +although she heard no step and her back was towards him, she felt his +presence; the sense of it fell upon her like a cold shadow. Turning +round she beheld the man. He was standing close by, but above her, upon +a big granite boulder, in climbing which his soft veld schoons, or hide +shoes, had made no noise, for Meyer could move like a cat. The last rays +from the sinking sun struck him full, outlining his agile, nervous shape +against the sky, and in their intense red light, which flamed upon him, +he appeared terrible. He looked like a panther about to spring; his eyes +shone like a panther’s, and Benita knew that she was the prey whom he +desired. Still, remembering her resolution, she determined to show no +fear, and addressed him: + +“Good-evening, Mr. Meyer. Oh! I am so stiff that I cannot lift my neck +to look at you,” and she laughed. + +He bounded softly from the rock, like a panther again, and stood in +front of her. + +“You should thank the God you believe in,” he said, “that by now you are +not stiff indeed--all that the jackals have left of you.” + +“I do, Mr. Meyer, and I thank you, too; it was brave of you to come out +to save us. Father,” she called, “come and tell Mr. Meyer how grateful +we are to him.” + +Mr. Clifford hobbled out from his hut under the tree, saying: + +“I have told him already, dear.” + +“Yes,” answered Jacob, “you have told me; why repeat yourself? I see +that supper is ready. Let us eat, for you must be hungry; afterwards I +have something to tell you.” + +So they ate, with no great appetite, any of them--indeed Meyer touched +but little food, though he drank a good deal, first of strong black +coffee and afterwards of squareface and water. But on Benita he pressed +the choicest morsels that he could find, eyeing her all the while, and +saying that she must take plenty of nutriment or her beauty would suffer +and her strength wane. Benita bethought her of the fairy tales of her +childhood, in which the ogre fed up the princess whom he purposed to +devour. + +“You should think of your own strength, Mr. Meyer,” she said; “you +cannot live on coffee and squareface.” + +“It is all I need to-night. I am astonishingly well since you came back. +I can never remember feeling so well, or so strong. I can do the work +of three men, and not be tired; all this afternoon, for instance, I have +been carrying provisions and other things up that steep wall, for we +must prepare for a long siege together; yet I should never know that +I had lifted a single basket. But while you were away--ah! then I felt +tired.” + +Benita changed the subject, asking him if he had made any discoveries. + +“Not yet, but now that you are back the discoveries will soon come. Do +not be afraid; I have my plan which cannot fail. Also, it was lonely +working in that cave without you, so I only looked about a little +outside till it was time to go to meet you, and shoot some of those +Matabele. Do you know?--I killed seven of them myself. When I was +shooting for your sake I could not miss,” and he smiled at her. + +Benita shrank from him visibly, and Mr. Clifford said in an angry voice: + +“Don’t talk of those horrors before my daughter. It is bad enough to +have to do such things, without speaking about them afterwards.” + +“You are right,” he replied reflectively; “and I apologise, though +personally I never enjoyed anything so much as shooting those Matabele. +Well, they are gone, and there are plenty more outside. Listen! They are +singing their evening hymn,” and with his long finger he beat time to +the volleying notes of the dreadful Matabele war-chant, which floated up +from the plain below. “It sounds quite religious, doesn’t it? only the +words--no, I will not translate them. In our circumstances they are too +personal. + +“Now I have something to say to you. It was unkind of you to run away +and leave me like that, not honourable either. Indeed,” he added with a +sudden outbreak of the panther ferocity, “had you alone been concerned, +Clifford, I tell you frankly that when we met again, I should have shot +you. Traitors deserve to be shot, don’t they?” + +“Please stop talking to my father like that,” broke in Benita in a +stern voice, for her anger had overcome her fear. “Also it is I whom you +should blame.” + +“It is a pleasure to obey you,” he answered bowing; “I will never +mention the subject any more. Nor do I blame you--who could?--not Jacob +Meyer. I quite understand that you found it very dull up here, and +ladies must be allowed their fancies. Also you have come back; so why +talk of the matter? But listen: on one point I have made up my mind; +for your own sake you shall not go away any more until we leave this +together. When I had finished carrying up the food I made sure of that. +If you go to look to-morrow morning you will find that no one can come +up that wall--and, what is more, no one can go down it. Moreover, that I +may be quite certain, in future I shall sleep near the stair myself.” + +Benita and her father stared at each other. + +“The Molimo has a right to come,” she said; “it is his sanctuary.” + +“Then he must celebrate his worship down below for a little while. The +old fool pretends to know everything, but he never guessed what I was +going to do. Besides, we don’t want him breaking in upon our privacy, do +we? He might see the gold when we find it, and rob us of it afterwards.” + + + + +XVII + +THE FIRST EXPERIMENT + +Again Benita and her father stared at each other blankly, almost with +despair. They were trapped, cut off from all help; in the power of a +man who was going mad. Mr. Clifford said nothing. He was old and growing +feeble; for years, although he did not know it, Meyer had dominated +him, and never more so than in this hour of stress and bewilderment. +Moreover, the man had threatened to murder him, and he was afraid, not +so much for himself as for his daughter. If he were to die now, what +would happen to her, left alone with Jacob Meyer? The knowledge of his +own folly, understood too late, filled him with shame. How could he have +been so wicked as to bring a girl upon such a quest in the company of an +unprincipled Jew, of whose past he knew nothing except that it was murky +and dubious? He had committed a great crime, led on by a love of lucre, +and the weight of it pressed upon his tongue and closed his lips; he +knew not what to say. + +For a little while Benita was silent also; hope died within her. But +she was a bold-spirited woman, and by degrees her courage re-asserted +itself. Indignation filled her breast and shone through her dark eyes. +Suddenly she turned upon Jacob, who sat before them smoking his pipe and +enjoying their discomfiture. + +“How dare you?” she asked in a low, concentrated voice. “How dare you, +you coward?” + +He shrank a little beneath her scorn and anger; then seemed to recover +and brace himself, as one does who feels that a great struggle is at +hand, upon the issue of which everything depends. + +“Do not be angry with me,” he answered. “I cannot bear it. It hurts--ah! +you don’t know how it hurts. Well, I will tell you, and before your +father, for that is more honourable. I dare--for your sake.” + +“For my sake? How can it benefit me to be cooped up in this horrible +place with you? I would rather trust myself with the Makalanga, or +even,” she added with bitter scorn, “even with those bloody-minded +Matabele.” + +“You ran away from them very fast a little while ago, Miss Clifford. But +you do not understand me. When I said for your sake, I meant for my +own. See, now. You tried to leave me the other day and did not succeed. +Another time you might succeed, and then--what would happen to me?” + +“I do not know, Mr. Meyer,” and her eyes added--“I do not care.” + +“Ah! but I know. Last time it drove me nearly mad; next time I should go +quite mad.” + +“Because you believe that through me you will find this treasure of +which you dream day and night, Mr. Meyer----” + +“Yes,” he interrupted quickly. “Because I believe that in you I shall +find the treasure of which I dream day and night, and because that +treasure has become necessary to my life.” + +Benita turned quickly towards her father, who was puzzling over the +words, but before either of them could speak Jacob passed his hand +across his brow in a bewildered way and said: + +“What was I talking of? The treasure, yes, the uncountable treasure of +pure gold, that lies hid so deep, that is so hard to discover and to +possess; the useless, buried treasure that would bring such joy and +glory to us both, if only it could be come at and reckoned out, piece by +piece, coin by coin, through the long, long years of life.” + +Again he paused; then went on. + +“Well, Miss Clifford, you are quite right; that is why I have dared to +make you a prisoner, because, as the old Molimo said, the treasure is +yours and I wish to share it. Now, about this treasure, it seems that it +can’t be found, can it, although I have worked so hard?” and he looked +at his delicate, scarred hands. + +“Quite so, Mr. Meyer, it can’t be found, so you had better let us go +down to the Makalanga.” + +“But there is a way, Miss Clifford, there is a way. You know where it +lies, and you can show me.” + +“If I knew I would show you soon enough, Mr. Meyer, for then you could +take the stuff and our partnership would be at an end.” + +“Not until it is divided ounce by ounce and coin by coin. But +first--first you must show me, as you say you will, and as you can.” + +“How, Mr. Meyer? I am not a magician.” + +“Ah! but you are. I will tell you how, having your promise. Listen now, +both of you. I have studied. I know a great many secret things, and I +read in your face that you have the gift--let me look in your eyes a +while, Miss Clifford, and you will go to sleep quite gently, and then +in your sleep, which shall not harm you at all, you will see where that +gold lies hidden, and you will tell us.” + +“What do you mean?” asked Benita, bewildered. + +“I know what he means,” broke in Mr. Clifford. “You mean that you want +to mesmerize her as you did the Zulu chief.” + +Benita opened her lips to speak, but Meyer said quickly: + +“No, no; hear me first before you refuse. You have the gift, the +precious gift of clairvoyance, that is so rare.” + +“How do you know that, Mr. Meyer? I have never been mesmerized in my +life.” + +“It does not matter how. I do know it; I have been sure of it from the +moment when first we met, that night by the kloof. Although, perhaps, +you felt nothing then, it was that gift of yours working upon a mind in +tune, my mind, which led me there in time to save you, as it was that +gift of yours which warned you of the disaster about to happen to the +ship--oh! I have heard the story from your own lips. Your spirit can +loose itself from the body: it can see the past and the future; it can +discover the hidden things.” + +“I do not believe it,” answered Benita; “but at least it shall not be +loosed by you.” + +“It shall, it shall,” he cried with passion, his eyes blazing on her as +he spoke. “Oh! I foresaw all this, and that is why I was determined you +should come with us, so that, should other means fail, we might have +your power to fall back upon. Well, they have failed; I have been +patient, I have said nothing, but now there is no other way. Will you be +so selfish, so cruel, as to deny me, you who can make us all rich in an +hour, and take no hurt at all, no more than if you had slept awhile?” + +“Yes,” answered Benita. “I refuse to deliver my will into the keeping of +any living man, and least of all into yours, Mr. Meyer.” + +He turned to her father with a gesture of despair. + +“Cannot you persuade her, Clifford? She is your daughter, she will obey +you.” + +“Not in that,” said Benita. + +“No,” answered Mr. Clifford. “I cannot, and I wouldn’t if I could. My +daughter is quite right. Moreover, I hate this supernatural kind of +thing. If we can’t find this gold without it, then we must let it alone, +that is all.” + +Meyer turned aside to hide his face, and presently looked up again, and +spoke quite softly. + +“I suppose that I must accept my answer, but when you talked of any +living man just now, Miss Clifford, did you include your father?” + +She shook her head. + +“Then will you allow him to try to mesmerize you?” + +Benita laughed. + +“Oh, yes, if he likes,” she said. “But I do not think that the operation +will be very successful.” + +“Good, we will see to-morrow. Now, like you, I am tired. I am going to +bed in my new camp by the wall,” he added significantly. + +***** + +“Why are you so dead set against this business?” asked her father, when +he had gone. + +“Oh, father!” she answered, “can’t you see, don’t you understand? Then +it is hard to have to tell you, but I must. In the beginning Mr. Meyer +only wanted the gold. Now he wants more, me as well as the gold. I hate +him! You know that is why I ran away. But I have read a good deal about +this mesmerism, and seen it once or twice, and who knows? If once I +allow his mind to master my mind, although I hate him so much, I might +become his slave.” + +“I understand now,” said Mr. Clifford. “Oh, why did I ever bring you +here? It would have been better if I had never seen your face again.” + + +On the morrow the experiment was made. Mr. Clifford attempted to +mesmerize his daughter. All the morning Jacob, who, it now appeared, had +practical knowledge of this doubtful art, tried to instruct him therein. +In the course of the lesson he informed him that for a short period in +the past, having great natural powers in that direction, he had made use +of them professionally, only giving up the business because he found +it wrecked his health. Mr. Clifford remarked that he had never told him +that before. + +“There are lots of things in my life that I have never told you,” + replied Jacob with a little secret smile. “For instance, once I +mesmerized you, although you did not know it, and that is why you always +have to do what I want you to, except when your daughter is near you, +for her influence is stronger than mine.” + +Mr. Clifford stared at him. + +“No wonder Benita won’t let you mesmerize her,” he said shortly. + +Then Jacob saw his mistake. + +“You are more foolish than I thought,” he said. “How could I mesmerize +you without your knowing it? I was only laughing at you.” + +“I didn’t see the laugh,” replied Mr. Clifford uneasily, and they went +on with the lesson. + +That afternoon it was put to proof--in the cave itself, where Meyer +seemed to think that the influences would be propitious. Benita, who +found some amusement in the performance, was seated upon the stone steps +underneath the crucifix, one lamp on the altar and others one each side +of her. + +In front stood her father, staring at her and waving his hands +mysteriously in obedience to Jacob’s directions. So ridiculous did he +look indeed while thus engaged that Benita had the greatest difficulty +in preventing herself from bursting into laughter. This was the only +effect which his grimaces and gesticulations produced upon her, although +outwardly she kept a solemn appearance, and even from time to time shut +her eyes to encourage him. Once, when she opened them again, it was to +perceive that he was becoming very hot and exhausted, and that Jacob was +watching him with such an unpleasant intentness that she re-closed her +eyes that she might not see his face. + +It was shortly after this that of a sudden Benita did feel something, +a kind of penetrating power flowing upon her, something soft and subtle +that seemed to creep into her brain like the sound of her mother’s +lullaby in the dim years ago. She began to think that she was a lost +traveller among alpine snows wrapped round by snow, falling, falling in +ten myriad flakes, every one of them with a little heart of fire. Then +it came to her that she had heard this snow-sleep was dangerous, the +last of all sleeps, and that its victims must rouse themselves, or die. + +Benita roused herself just in time--only just, for now she was being +borne over the edge of a precipice upon the wings of swans, and beneath +her was darkness wherein dim figures walked with lamps where their +hearts should be. Oh, how heavy were her eyelids! Surely a weight hung +to each of them, a golden weight. There, there, they were open, and she +saw. Her father had ceased his efforts; he was rubbing his brow with a +red pocket-handkerchief, but behind him, with rigid arms outstretched, +his glowing eyes fastened on her face, stood Jacob Meyer. By an effort +she sprang to her feet, shaking her head as a dog does. + +“Have done with this nonsense,” she said. “It tires me,” and snatching +one of the lamps she ran swiftly down the place. + +Benita expected that Jacob Meyer would be very angry with her, and +braced herself for a scene. But nothing of the sort happened. A while +afterwards she saw the two of them approaching, engaged apparently in +amicable talk. + +“Mr. Meyer says that I am no mesmerist, love,” said her father, “and I +can quite believe him. But for all that it is a weary job. I am as tired +as I was after our escape from the Matabele.” + +She laughed and answered: + +“To judge by results I agree with you. The occult is not in your line, +father. You had better give it up.” + +“Did you, then, feel nothing?” asked Meyer. + +“Nothing at all,” she answered, looking him in the eyes. “No, that’s +wrong, I felt extremely bored and sorry to see my father making +himself ridiculous. Grey hairs and nonsense of that sort don’t go well +together.” + +“No,” he answered. “I agree with you--not of that sort,” and the subject +dropped. + +For the next few days, to her intense relief, Benita heard no more +of mesmerism. To begin with, there was something else to occupy their +minds. The Matabele, tired of marching round the fortress and singing +endless war-songs, had determined upon an assault. From their point of +vantage on the topmost wall the three could watch the preparations which +they made. Trees were cut down and brought in from a great distance that +rude ladders might be fashioned out of them; also spies wandered round +reconnoitring for a weak place in the defences. When they came too near +the Makalanga fired on them, killing some, so that they retreated to +the camp, which they had made in a fold of ground at a little distance. +Suddenly it occurred to Meyer that although here the Matabele were safe +from the Makalanga bullets, it was commanded from the greater eminence, +and by way of recreation he set himself to harass them. His rifle was a +sporting Martini, and he had an ample supply of ammunition. Moreover, he +was a beautiful marksman, with sight like that of a hawk. + +A few trial shots gave him the range; it was a shade under seven hundred +yards, and then he began operations. Lying on the top of the wall +and resting his rifle upon a stone, he waited until the man who was +superintending the manufacture of the ladders came out into the open, +when, aiming carefully, he fired. The soldier, a white-bearded savage, +sprang into the air, and fell backwards, while his companions stared +upwards, wondering whence the bullet had come. + +“Pretty, wasn’t it?” said Meyer to Benita, who was watching through a +pair of field-glasses. + +“I dare say,” she answered. “But I don’t want to see any more,” and +giving the glasses to her father, she climbed down the wall. + +But Meyer stayed there, and from time to time she heard the report of +his rifle. In the evening he told her that he had killed six men and +wounded ten more, adding that it was the best day’s shooting which he +could remember. + +“What is the use when there are so many?” she asked. + +“Not much,” he answered. “But it annoys them and amuses me. Also, it +was part of our bargain that we should help the Makalanga if they were +attacked.” + +“I believe that you like killing people,” she said. + +“I don’t mind it, Miss Clifford, especially as they tried to kill you.” + + + + +XVIII + +THE OTHER BENITA + +At irregular times, when he had nothing else to do, Jacob went on with +his man-shooting, in which Mr. Clifford joined him, though with less +effect. Soon it became evident that the Matabele were very much annoyed +by the fatal accuracy of this fire. Loss of life they did not mind in +the abstract, but when none of them knew but that their own turn might +come next to perish beneath these downward plunging bullets, the matter +wore a different face to them. To leave their camp was not easy, since +they had made a thorn _boma_ round it, to protect them in case the +Makalanga should make a night sally; also they could find no other +convenient spot. The upshot of it all was to hurry their assault, which +they delivered before they had prepared sufficient ladders to make it +effective. + +At the first break of dawn on the third day after Mr. Clifford’s attempt +at mesmerism, Benita was awakened by the sounds of shouts and firing. +Having dressed herself hastily, she hurried in the growing light towards +that part of the wall from below which the noise seemed to come, and +climbing it, found her father and Jacob already seated there, their +rifles in hand. + +“The fools are attacking the small gate through which you went out +riding, Miss Clifford, the very worst place that they could have chosen, +although the wall looks very weak there,” said the latter. “If those +Makalanga have any pluck they ought to teach them a lesson.” + +Then the sun rose and they saw companies of Matabele, who carried +ladders in their hands, rushing onwards through the morning mist till +their sight of them was obstructed by the swell of the hill. On these +companies the two white men opened fire, with what result they could not +see in that light. Presently a great shout announced that the enemy had +gained the fosse and were setting up the ladders. Up to this time the +Makalanga appeared to have done nothing, but now they began to fire +rapidly from the ancient bastions which commanded the entrance the impi +was striving to storm, and soon through the thinning fog they perceived +wounded Matabele staggering and crawling back towards their camp. Of +these, the light now better, Jacob did not neglect to take his toll. + +Meanwhile, the ancient fortress rang with the hideous tumult of the +attack. It was evident that again and again, as their fierce war-shouts +proclaimed, the Matabele were striving to scale the wall, and again and +again were beaten back by the raking rifle fire. Once a triumphant yell +seemed to announce their success. The fire slackened and Benita grew +pale with fear. + +“The Makalanga cowards are bolting,” muttered Mr. Clifford, listening +with terrible anxiety. + +But if so their courage came back to them, for presently the guns +cracked louder and more incessant than before, and the savage cries of +“Kill! Kill! Kill!” dwindled and died away. Another five minutes and the +Matabele were in full retreat, bearing with them many dead and wounded +men upon their backs or stretched out on the ladders. + +“Our Makalanga friends should be grateful to us for those hundred +rifles,” said Jacob as he loaded and fired rapidly, sending his bullets +wherever the clusters were thickest. “Had it not been for them their +throats would have been cut by now,” he added, “for they could never +have stopped those savages with the spear.” + +“Yes, and ours too before nightfall,” said Benita with a shudder, +for the sight of this desperate fray and fear of how it might end had +sickened her. “Thank Heaven, it is over! Perhaps they will give up the +siege and go away.” + +But, notwithstanding their costly defeat, for they had lost over a +hundred men, the Matabele, who were afraid to return to Buluwayo except +as victors, did nothing of the sort. They only cut down a quantity of +reeds and scrub, and moved their camp nearly to the banks of the river, +placing it in such a position that it could no longer be searched by +the fire of the two white men. Here they sat themselves down sullenly, +hoping to starve out the garrison or to find some other way of entering +the fortress. + +Now Meyer’s shooting having come to an end for lack of men to shoot at, +since the enemy exposed themselves no more, he was again able to give +his full attention to the matter of the treasure hunt. + +As nothing could be found in the cave he devoted himself to the outside +enclosure which, it may be remembered, was grown over with grass and +trees and crowded with ruins. In the most important of these ruins they +began to dig somewhat aimlessly, and were rewarded by finding a certain +amount of gold in the shape of beads and ornaments, and a few more +skeletons of ancients. But of the Portuguese hoard there was no sign. +Thus it came about that they grew gloomier day by day, till at last they +scarcely spoke to each other. Jacob’s angry disappointment was written +on his face, and Benita was filled with despair, since to escape from +their gaoler above and the Matabele below seemed impossible. Moreover, +she had another cause for anxiety. + +The ill-health which had been threatening her father for a long while +now fell upon him in earnest, so that of a sudden he became a very old +man. His strength and energy left him, and his mind was so filled with +remorse for what he held to be his crime in bringing his daughter to +this awful place, and with terror for the fate that threatened her, that +he could think of nothing else. In vain did she try to comfort him. He +would only wring his hands and groan, praying that God and she would +forgive him. Now, too, Meyer’s mastery over him became continually more +evident. Mr. Clifford implored the man, almost with tears, to unblock +the wall and allow them to go down to the Makalanga. He even tried to +bribe him with the offer of all his share of the treasure, if it were +found, and when that failed, of his property in the Transvaal. + +But Jacob only told him roughly not to be a fool, as they had to see the +thing through together. Then he would go again and brood by himself, +and Benita noticed that he always took his rifle or a pistol with him. +Evidently he feared lest her father should catch him unprepared, and +take the law into his own hands by means of a sudden bullet. + +One comfort she had, however: although he watched her closely, the +Jew never tried to molest her in any way, not even with more of his +enigmatic and amorous speeches. By degrees, indeed, she came to believe +that all this was gone from his mind, or that he had abandoned his +advances as hopeless. + +A week passed since the Matabele attack, and nothing had happened. The +Makalanga took no notice of them, and so far as she was aware the +old Molimo never attempted to climb the blocked wall or otherwise to +communicate with them, a thing so strange that, knowing his affection +for her, Benita came to the conclusion that he must be dead, killed +perhaps in the attack. Even Jacob Meyer had abandoned his digging, and +sat about all day doing nothing but think. + +Their meal that night was a miserable affair, since in the first place +provisions were running short and there was little to eat, and in the +second no one spoke a word. Benita could swallow no food; she was weary +of that sun-dried trek-ox, for since Meyer had blocked the wall they had +little else. But by good fortune there remained plenty of coffee, and +of this she drank two cups, which Jacob prepared and handed to her +with much politeness. It tasted very bitter to her, but this, Benita +reflected, was because they lacked milk and sugar. Supper ended, Meyer +rose and bowed to her, muttering that he was going to bed, and a few +minutes later Mr. Clifford followed his example. She went with her +father to the hut beneath the tree, and having helped him to remove his +coat, which now he seemed to find difficulty in doing for himself, bade +him good-night and returned to the fire. + +It was very lonely there in the silence, for no sound came from either +the Matabele or the Makalanga camps, and the bright moonlight seemed to +people the place with fantastic shadows that looked alive. Benita cried +a little now that her father could not see her, and then also sought +refuge in bed. Evidently the end, whatever it might be, was near, and of +it she could not bear to think. Moreover, her eyes were strangely heavy, +so much so that before she had finished saying her prayers sleep fell +upon her, and she knew no more. + +Had she remained as wakeful as it was often her fate to be during those +fearful days, towards midnight she might have heard some light-footed +creature creeping to her tent, and seen that the moon-rays which flowed +through the gaping and ill-closed flap were cut off by the figure of a +man with glowing eyes, whose projected arms waved over her mysteriously. +But Benita neither heard nor saw. In her drugged rest she did not know +that her sleep turned gradually to a magic swoon. She had no knowledge +of her rising, or of how she threw her thick cloak about her, lit her +lamp, and, in obedience to that beckoning finger, glided from the tent. +She never heard her father stumble from his hut, disturbed by the sound +of footsteps, or the words that passed between him and Jacob Meyer, +while, lamp in hand, she stood near them like a strengthless ghost. + +“If you dare to wake her,” hissed Jacob, “I tell you that she will die, +and afterwards you shall die,” and he fingered the pistol at his belt. +“No harm shall come to her--I swear it! Follow and see. Man, man, be +silent; our fortunes hang on it.” + +Then, overcome also by the strange fierceness of that voice and gaze, he +followed. + +On they go to the winding neck of the cavern, first Jacob walking +backwards like the herald of majesty; then majesty itself in the shape +of this long-haired, death-like woman, cloaked and bearing in her hand +the light; and last, behind, the old, white-bearded man, like Time +following Beauty to the grave. Now they were in the great cavern, and +now, avoiding the open tombs, the well mouth and the altar, they stood +beneath the crucifix. + +“Be seated,” said Meyer, and the entranced Benita sat herself down +upon the steps at the foot of the cross, placing the lamp on the rock +pavement before her, and bowing her head till her hair fell upon her +naked feet and hid them. He held his hands above her for a while, then +asked: + +“Do you sleep?” + +“I sleep,” came the strange, slow answer. + +“Is your spirit awake?” + +“It is awake.” + +“Command it to travel backwards through the ages to the beginning, and +tell me what you see here.” + +“I see a rugged cave and wild folk dwelling in it; an old man is dying +yonder,” and she pointed to the right; “and a black woman with a babe +at her breast tends him. A man, it is her husband, enters the cave. He +holds a torch in one hand, and with the other drags a buck.” + +“Cease,” said Meyer. “How long is this ago?” + +“Thirty-three thousand two hundred and one years,” came the answer, +spoken without any hesitation. + +“Pass on,” he said, “pass on thirty thousand years, and tell me what you +see.” + +For a long while there was silence. + +“Why do you not speak?” he asked. + +“Be patient; I am living through those thirty thousand years; many a +life, many an age, but none may be missed.” + +Again there was silence for a long while, till at length she spoke: + +“They are done, all of them, and now three thousand years ago I see this +place changed and smoothly fashioned, peopled by a throng of worshippers +clad in strange garments with clasps upon them. Behind me stands the +graven statue of a goddess with a calm and cruel face, in front of the +altar burns a fire, and on the altar white-robed priests are sacrificing +an infant which cries aloud.” + +“Pass on, pass on,” Meyer said hurriedly, as though the horror of that +scene had leapt to his eyes. “Pass on two thousand seven hundred years +and tell me what you see.” + +Again there was a pause, while the spirit he had evoked in the body of +Benita lived through those ages. Then slowly she answered: + +“Nothing, the place is black and desolate, only the dead sleep beneath +its floor.” + +“Wait till the living come again,” he commanded; “then speak.” + +“They are here,” she replied presently. “Tonsured monks, one of whom +fashions this crucifix, and their followers who bow before the Host upon +the altar. They come, they go--of whom shall I tell you?” + +“Tell me of the Portuguese; of those who were driven here to die.” + +“I see them all,” she answered, after a pause. “Two hundred and three of +them. They are ragged and wayworn and hungry. Among them is a beautiful +woman, a girl. She draws near to me, she enters into me. You must ask +her,”--this was spoken in a very faint voice--“I am I no more.” + +Mr. Clifford attempted to interrupt, but fiercely Meyer bade him to be +silent. + +“Speak,” he commanded, but the crouching figure shook her head. + +“Speak,” he said again, whereon another voice, not that of Benita, +answered in another tongue: + +“I hear; but I do not understand your language.” + +“Great Heaven!” said Meyer, “it is Portuguese,” and for a while the +terror of the thing struck him dumb, for he was aware that Benita knew +no Portuguese. He knew it, however, who had lived at Lorenço Marquez. + +“Who are you?” he asked in that tongue. + +“I am Benita da Ferreira. I am the daughter of the Captain da Ferreira +and of his wife, the lady Christinha, who stand by you now. Turn, and +you will see them.” + +Jacob started and looked about him uneasily. + +“What did she say? I did not catch it all,” asked Mr. Clifford. + +He translated her words. + +“But this is black magic,” exclaimed the old man. “Benita knows no +Portuguese, so how comes she to speak it?” + +“Because she is no longer our Benita; she is another Benita, Benita da +Ferreira. The Molimo was right when he said that the spirit of the dead +woman went with her, as it seems the name has gone,” he added. + +“Have done,” said Mr. Clifford; “the thing is unholy. Wake her up, or I +will.” + +“And bring about her death. Touch or disturb her, and I tell you she +will die,” and he pointed to Benita, who crouched before them so white +and motionless that indeed it seemed as though already she were dead. +“Be quiet,” he went on. “I swear to you that no hurt shall come to her, +also that I will translate everything to you. Promise, or I will tell +you nothing, and her blood be on your head.” + +Then Mr. Clifford groaned and said: + +“I promise.” + +“Tell me your story, Benita da Ferreira. How came you and your people +here?” + +“The tribes of Monomotapa rose against our rule. They killed many of +us in the lower land, yes, they killed my brother and him to whom I was +affianced. The rest of us fled north to this ancient fortress, hoping +thence to escape by the river, the Zambesi. The Mambo, our vassal, gave +us shelter here, but the tribes besieged the walls in thousands, and +burnt all the boats so that we could not fly by the water. Many times we +beat them back from the wall; the ditch was full of their dead, and at +last they dared to attack no more. + +“Then we began to starve and they won the first wall. We went on +starving and they won the second wall, but the third wall they could not +climb. So we died; one by one we laid ourselves down in this cave and +died, till I alone was left, for while our people had food they gave it +to me who was the daughter of their captain. Yes, alone I knelt at the +foot of this crucifix by the body of my father, praying to the blessed +Son of Mary for the death that would not come, and kneeling there I +swooned. When I awoke again the Mambo and his men stood about me, for +now, knowing us to be dead, the tribes had gone, and those who were in +hiding across the river had returned and knew how to climb the wall. +They bore me from among the dead, they gave me food so that my strength +came back; but in the night I, who in my wickedness would not live, +escaped from them and climbed the pillar of black rock, so that when +the sun rose they saw me standing there. They begged of me to come down, +promising to protect me, but I said ‘No,’ who in the evil of my heart +only desired to die, that I might join my father and my brother, and one +who was dearer to me than all. They asked of me where the great treasure +was hidden.” + +At these words Jacob gasped, then rapidly translated them, while the +figure before them became silent, as though it felt that for the moment +the power of his will was withdrawn. + +“Speak on, I bid you,” he said, and she continued, the rich, slow voice +dropping word after word from the lips of Benita in the alien speech +that this Benita never knew. + +“I answered that it was where it was, and that if they gave it up to +any save the one appointed, then that fate which had befallen my people +would befall theirs also. Yes, I gave it into their keeping until I came +again, since with his dying breath my father had commanded me to reveal +it to none, and I believed that I who was about to die should never come +again. + +“Then I made my last prayer, I kissed the golden crucifix that now hangs +upon this breast wherein I dwell,” and the hand of the living Benita was +lifted, and moving like the hand of a dead thing, slowly drew out the +symbol from beneath the cloak, held it for a moment in the lamplight, +and let it fall to its place again. “I put my hands before my eyes that +I might not see, and I hurled myself from the pinnacle.” + +Now the voice ceased, but from the lips came a dreadful sound, such as +might be uttered by one whose bones are shattered upon rocks, followed +by other sounds like those of one who chokes in water. They were so +horrible to hear that Mr. Clifford nearly fainted, and even Jacob Meyer +staggered and turned white as the white face of Benita. + +“Wake her! For God’s sake, wake her!” said her father. “She is dying, as +that woman died hundreds of years ago.” + +“Not till she has told us where the gold is. Be quiet, you fool. She +does not feel or suffer. It is the spirit within her that lives through +the past again.” + +Once more there was silence. It seemed as though the story were all told +and the teller had departed. + +“Benita da Ferreira,” said Meyer at length, “I command you, tell me, are +you dead?” + +“Oh! would that I were dead, as my body is dead!” wailed the lips of +Benita. “Alas! I cannot die who suffer this purgatory, and must dwell on +here alone until the destined day. Yes, yes, the spirit of her who was +Benita da Ferreira must haunt this place in solitude. This is her doom, +to be the guardian of that accursed gold which was wrung from the earth +by cruelty and paid for with the lives of men.” + +“Is it still safe?” whispered Jacob. + +“I will look;” then after a pause, “I have looked. It is there, every +grain of it, in ox-hide bags; only one of them has fallen and burst, +that which is black and red.” + +“Where is it?” he said again. + +“I may not tell you; never, never.” + +“Is there anyone whom you may tell?” + +“Yes.” + +“Whom?” + +“Her in whose breast I lie.” + +“Tell her then.” + +“I have told her; she knows.” + +“And may she tell me?” + +“Let her guard the secret as she will. O my Guardian, I thank thee. My +burden is departed; my sin of self-murder is atoned.” + +“Benita da Ferreira, are you gone?” + +No answer. + +“Benita Clifford, do you hear me?” + +“I hear you,” said the voice of Benita, speaking in English, although +Jacob, forgetting, had addressed her in Portuguese. + +“Where is the gold?” + +“In my keeping.” + +“Tell me, I command you.” + +But no words came; though he questioned her many times no words came, +till at last her head sank forward upon her knees, and in a faint voice +she murmured: + +“Loose me, or I die.” + + + + +XIX + +THE AWAKING + +Still Jacob Meyer hesitated. The great secret was unlearned, and, if +this occasion passed, might never be learned. But if he hesitated, Mr. +Clifford did not. The knowledge of his child’s danger, the sense that +her life was mysteriously slipping away from her under pressure of the +ghastly spell in which she lay enthralled, stirred him to madness. His +strength and manhood came back to him. He sprang straight at Meyer’s +throat, gripped it with one hand, and with the other drew the knife he +wore. + +“You devil!” he gasped. “Wake her or you shall go with her!” and he +lifted the knife. + +Then Jacob gave in. Shaking off his assailant he stepped to Benita, and +while her father stood behind him with the lifted blade, began to make +strange upward passes over her, and to mutter words of command. For a +long while they took no effect; indeed, both of them were almost sure +that she was gone. Despair gripped her father, and Meyer worked at his +black art so furiously that the sweat burst out upon his forehead and +fell in great drops to the floor. + +Oh, at last, at last she stirred! Her head lifted itself a little, her +breast heaved. + +“Lord in Heaven, I have saved her!” muttered Jacob in German, and worked +on. + +Now the eyes of Benita opened, and now she stood up and sighed. But she +said nothing; only like a person walking in her sleep, she began to move +towards the entrance of the cave, her father going before her with the +lamp. On she went, and out of it straight to her tent, where instantly +she cast herself upon her bed and sank into deep slumber. It was as +though the power of the drug-induced oblivion, which for a while +was over-mastered by that other stronger power invoked by Jacob, had +reasserted itself. + +Meyer watched her for awhile; then said to Mr. Clifford: + +“Don’t be afraid and don’t attempt to disturb her. She will wake +naturally in the morning.” + +“I hope so for both our sakes,” he answered, glaring at him, “for if +not, you or I, or the two of us, will never see another.” + +Meyer took no notice of his threats; indeed the man seemed so exhausted +that he could scarcely stand. + +“I am done,” he said. “Now, as she is safe, I don’t care what happens to +me. I must rest,” and he staggered from the tent, like a drunken man. + +Outside, at the place where they ate, Mr. Clifford heard him gulping +down raw gin from the bottle. Then he heard no more. + +All the rest of the night, and for some hours of the early morning, did +her father watch by the bed of Benita, although, lightly clad as he was, +the cold of dawn struck to his bones. At length, when the sun was well +up, she rose in her bed, and her eyes opened. + +“What are you doing here, father?” she said. + +“I have come to see where you were, dear. You are generally out by now.” + +“I suppose that I must have overslept myself then,” she replied wearily. +“But it does not seem to have refreshed me much, and my head aches. Oh! +I remember,” she added with a start. “I have had such a horrid dream.” + +“What about?” he asked as carelessly as he could. + +“I can’t recall it quite, but it had to do with Mr. Meyer,” and she +shivered. “It seemed as though I had passed into his power, as though he +had taken possession of me, body and soul, and forced me to tell him all +the secret things.” + +“What secret things, Benita?” + +She shook her head. + +“I don’t know now, but we went away among dead people, and I told him +there. Oh! father, I am afraid of that man--terribly afraid! Protect me +from him,” and she began to cry a little. + +“Of course I will protect you, dear. Something has upset your nerves. +Come, dress yourself and you’ll soon forget it all. I’ll light the +fire.” + +A quarter of an hour later Benita joined him, looking pale and shaken, +but otherwise much as usual. She was ravenously hungry, and ate of the +biscuits and dried meat with eagerness. + +“The coffee tastes quite different from that which I drank last night,” + she said. “I think there must have been something in it which gave me +those bad dreams. Where is Mr. Meyer? Oh, I know!” and again she put her +hand to her head. “He is still asleep by the wall.” + +“Who told you that?” + +“I can’t say, but it is so. He will not come here till one o’clock. +There, I feel much better now. What shall we do, father?” + +“Sit in the sun and rest, I think, dear.” + +“Yes, let us do that, on the top of the wall. We can see the Makalanga +from there, and it will be a comfort to be sure that there are other +human beings left in the world besides ourselves and Jacob Meyer.” + +So presently they went, and from the spot whence Meyer used to shoot at +the Matabele camp, looked down upon the Makalanga moving about the first +enclosure far below. By the aid of the glasses Benita even thought that +she recognised Tamas, although of this it was difficult to be sure, for +they were all very much alike. Still, the discovery quite excited her. + +“I am sure it is Tamas,” she said. “And oh! how I wish that we were down +there with him, although it is true that then we should be nearer to the +Matabele. But they are better than Mr. Meyer, much better.” + +Now for a while they were silent, till at length she said suddenly: + +“Father, you are keeping something back from me, and things begin to +come back. Tell me; did I go anywhere last night with Mr. Meyer--you and +he and I together?” + +He hesitated and looked guilty; Mr. Clifford was not a good actor. + +“I see that we did; I am sure that we did. Father, tell me. I must know, +I will know.” + +Then he gave way. + +“I didn’t want to speak, dear, but perhaps it is best. It is a very +strange story. Will you promise not to be upset?” + +“I will promise not to be more upset than I am at present,” she +answered, with a sad little laugh. “Go on.” + +“You remember that Jacob Meyer wanted to mesmerize you?” + +“I am not likely to forget it,” she answered. + +“Well, last night he did mesmerize you.” + +“What?” she said. “_What?_ Oh! how dreadful! Now I understand it all. +But when?” + +“When you were sound asleep, I suppose. At least, the first I knew of +it was that some noise woke me, and I came out of the hut to see you +following him like a dead woman, with a lamp in your hand.” + +Then he told her all the story, while she listened aghast. + +“How dared he!” she gasped, when her father had finished the long tale. +“I hate him; I almost wish that you had killed him,” and she clenched +her little hands and shook them in the air. + +“That is not very Christian of you, Miss Clifford,” said a voice behind +her. “But it is past one o’clock, and as I am still alive I have come to +tell you that it is time for luncheon.” + +Benita wheeled round upon the stone on which she sat, and there, +standing amidst the bushes a little way from the foot of the wall, was +Jacob Meyer. Their eyes met; hers were full of defiance, and his of +conscious power. + +“I do not want any luncheon, Mr. Meyer,” she said. + +“But I am sure that you do. Please come down and have some. Please come +down.” + +The words were spoken humbly, almost pleadingly, yet to Benita they +seemed as a command. At any rate, with slow reluctance she climbed down +the shattered wall, followed by her father, and without speaking they +went back to their camping place, all three of them, Jacob leading the +way. + +When they had eaten, or made pretence to eat, he spoke. + +“I see that your father has told you everything, Miss Clifford, and of +that I am glad. As for me, it would have been awkward, who must ask your +forgiveness for so much. But what could I do? I knew, as I have always +known, that it was only possible to find this treasure by your help. +So I gave you something to make you sleep, and then in your sleep I +hypnotized you, and--you know the rest. I have great experience in this +art, but I have never seen or heard of anything like what happened, and +I hope I never shall again.” + +Hitherto Benita had sat silent, but now her burning indignation and +curiosity overcame her shame and hatred. + +“Mr. Meyer,” she said, “you have done a shameful and a wicked thing, and +I tell you at once that I can never forgive you.” + +“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that,” he interrupted in tones of real +grief. “Make allowances for me. I had to learn, and there was no other +way. You are a born clairvoyante, one among ten thousand, my art told me +so, and you know all that is at stake.” + +“By which you mean so many ounces of gold, Mr. Meyer.” + +“By which I mean the greatness that gold can give, Miss Clifford.” + +“Such greatness, Mr. Meyer, as a week of fever, or a Matabele spear, or +God’s will can rob you of. But the thing is done, and soon or late the +sin must be paid for. Now I want to ask you a question. You believe in +nothing; you have told me so several times. You say that there is no +such thing as a spirit, that when we die, we die, and there’s an end. Do +you not?” + +“Yes, I do.” + +“Then tell me, what was it that spoke out of my lips last night, and how +came it that I, who know no Portuguese, talked to you in that tongue?” + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +“You have put a difficult question, but one I think that can be +answered. There is no such thing as a spirit, an identity that survives +death. But there is such a thing as the sub-conscious self, which is part +of the animating principle of the universe, and, if only its knowledge +can be unsealed, knows all that has passed and all that is passing in +that universe. One day perhaps you will read the works of my compatriot, +Hegel, and there you will find it spoken of.” + +“You explain nothing.” + +“I am about to explain, Miss Clifford. Last night I gave to your +sub-conscious self--that which knows all--the strength of liberty, so +that it saw the past as it happened in this place. Already you knew +the story of the dead girl, Benita da Ferreira, and that story you +re-enacted, talking the tongue she used as you would have talked Greek +or any other tongue, had it been hers. It was not her spirit that +animated you, although at the time I called it so for shortness, but +your own buried knowledge, tricked out and furnished by the effort of +your human imagination. That her name, Benita, should have been yours +also is no doubt a strange coincidence, but no more. Also we have no +proof that it was so; only what you said in your trance.” + +“Perhaps,” said Benita, who was in no mood for philosophical argument. +“Perhaps also one day you will see a spirit, Mr. Meyer, and think +otherwise.” + +“When I see a spirit and know that it is a spirit, then doubtless +I shall believe in spirits. But what is the good of talking of such +things? I do not seek spirits; I seek Portuguese gold. Now, I am sure +you can tell where that gold lies. You would have told us last night, +had not your nervous strength failed you, who are unaccustomed to the +state of trance. Speaking as Benita da Ferreira, you said that you saw +it and described its condition. Then you could, or would, say no more, +and it became necessary to waken you. Miss Clifford, you must let me +mesmerize you once again for a few minutes only, for then we will waste +no time on past histories, and we shall find the gold. Unless, indeed,” + he added by an afterthought, and looking at her sharply, “you know +already where it is; in which case I need not trouble you.” + +“I do not know, Mr. Meyer. I remember nothing about the gold.” + +“Which proves my theory. What purported to be the spirit of Benita +da Ferreira said that it had passed the secret on to you, but in your +waking state you do not know that secret. In fact, she did not pass it +on because she had no existence. But in your sub-conscious state you +will know. Therefore I must mesmerize you again. Not at once, but in +a few days’ time, when you have quite recovered. Let us say next +Wednesday, three days hence.” + +“You shall never mesmerize me again, Mr. Meyer.” + +“No, not while I live,” broke in her father, who had been listening to +this discussion in silence. + +Jacob bowed his head meekly. + +“You think so now, but I think otherwise. What I did last night I did +against your will, and that I can do again, only much more easily. But I +had rather do it with your will, who work not for my own sake only, but +for the sake of all of us. And now let us talk no more of the matter, +lest we should grow angry.” Then he rose and went away. + +The next three days were passed by Benita in a state of constant dread. +She knew in herself that Jacob Meyer had acquired a certain command over +her; that an invincible intimacy had sprung up between them. She was +acquainted with his thoughts; thus, before he asked for it, she +would find herself passing him some article at table or elsewhere, or +answering a question that he was only about to ask. Moreover, he could +bring her to him from a little distance. Thus, on two or three occasions +when she was wandering about their prison enclosure, as she was wont to +do for the sake of exercise, she found her feet draw to some spot--now +one place and now another--and when she reached it there before her was +Jacob Meyer. + +“Forgive me for bringing you here,” he would say, smiling after his +crooked fashion, and lifting his hat politely, “but I wish to ask you if +you have not changed your mind as to being mesmerized?” + +Then for a while he would hold her with his eyes, so that her feet +seemed rooted to the ground, till at length it was as though he cut a +rope by some action of his will and set her free, and, choked with wrath +and blind with tears, Benita would turn and run from him as from a wild +beast. + +But if her days were evil, oh! what were her nights? She lived in +constant terror lest he should again drug her food or drink, and, while +she slept, throw his magic spell upon her. To protect herself from the +first danger she would swallow nothing that had been near him. Now also +she slept in the hut with her father, who lay near its door, a loaded +rifle at his side, for he had told Jacob outright that if he caught him +at his practices he would shoot him, a threat at which the younger man +laughed aloud, for he had no fear of Mr. Clifford. + +Throughout the long hours of darkness they kept watch alternately, one +of them lying down to rest while the other peered and listened. Nor +did Benita always listen in vain, for twice at least she heard stealthy +footsteps creeping about the hut, and felt that soft and dreadful +influence flowing in upon her. Then she would wake her father, +whispering, “He is there, I can feel that he is there.” But by the time +that the old man had painfully dragged himself to his feet--for now he +was becoming very feeble and acute rheumatism or some such illness had +got hold of him--and crept from the hut, there was no one to be seen. +Only through the darkness he would hear the sound of a retreating step, +and of low, mocking laughter. + +Thus those miserable days went by, and the third morning came, that +dreaded Wednesday. Before it was dawn Benita and her father, neither of +whom had closed their eyes that night, talked over their strait long and +earnestly, and they knew that its crisis was approaching. + +“I think that I had better try to kill him, Benita,” he said. “I am +growing dreadfully weak, and if I put it off I may find no strength, +and you will be at his mercy. I can easily shoot him when his back is +turned, and though I hate the thought of such a deed, surely I shall be +forgiven. Or if not, I cannot help it. I must think of my duty to you, +not of myself.” + +“No, no,” she answered. “I will not have it. It would be murder, +although he has threatened you. After all, father, I believe that the +man is half mad, and not responsible. We must take our chance and trust +to God to save us. If He does not,” she added, “at the worst I can +always save myself,” and she touched the pistol which now she wore day +and night. + +“So be it,” said Mr. Clifford, with a groan. “Let us pray for +deliverance from this hell and keep our hands clean of blood.” + + + + +XX + +JACOB MEYER SEES A SPIRIT + +For a while they were silent, then Benita said: + +“Father, is it not possible that we might escape, after all? Perhaps +that stair on the rampart is not so completely blocked that we could not +climb over it.” + +Mr. Clifford, thinking of his stiff limbs and aching back, shook his +head and answered: + +“I don’t know; Meyer has never let me near enough to see.” + +“Well, why do you not go to look? You know he sleeps till late now, +because he is up all night. Take the glasses and examine the top of the +wall from inside that old house near by. He will not see or hear you, +but if I came near, he would know and wake up.” + +“If you like, love, I can try, but what are you going to do while I am +away?” + +“I shall climb the pillar.” + +“You don’t mean----” and he stopped. + +“No, no, nothing of that sort. I shall not follow the example of Benita +da Ferreira unless I am driven to it; I want to look, that is all. One +can see far from that place, if there is anything to see. Perhaps the +Matabele are gone now, we have heard nothing of them lately.” + +So they dressed themselves, and as soon as the light was sufficiently +strong, came out of the hut and parted, Mr. Clifford, rifle in hand, +limping off towards the wall, and Benita going towards the great +cone. She climbed it easily enough, and stood in the little cup-like +depression on its dizzy peak, waiting for the sun to rise and disperse +the mists which hung over the river and its banks. + +Now whatever may have been the exact ceremonial use to which the +ancients put this pinnacle, without doubt it had something to do with +sun-worship. This, indeed, was proved by the fact that, at any rate at +this season of the year, the first rays of the risen orb struck full +upon its point. Thus it came about that, as she stood there waiting, +Benita of a sudden found herself suffused in light so vivid and intense +that, clothed as she was in a dress which had once been white, it must +have caused her to shine like a silver image. For several minutes, +indeed, this golden spear of fire blinded her so that she could see +nothing, but stood quite still, afraid to move, and waiting until, +as the sun grew higher, its level rays passed over her. This they did +presently, and plunging into the valley, began to drive away the fog. +Now she looked down, along the line of the river. + +The Matabele camp was invisible, for it lay in a hollow almost at the +foot of the fortress. Beyond it, however, was a rising swell of ground; +it may have been half a mile from where she stood, and on the crest +of it she perceived what looked like a waggon tent with figures moving +round it. They were shouting also, for through the silence of the +African morn the sound of their voices floated up to her. + +As the mist cleared off Benita saw that without doubt it was a waggon, +for there stood the long row of oxen, also it had just been captured +by the Matabele, for these were about it in numbers. At the moment, +however, they appeared to be otherwise occupied, for they were pointing +with their spears to the pillar on Bambatse. + +Then it occurred to Benita that, placed as she was in that fierce light +with only the sky for background, she must be perfectly visible from +the plain below, and that it might be her figure perched like an eagle +between heaven and earth which excited their interest. Yes, and not +theirs only, for now a white man appeared, who lifted what might have +been a gun, or a telescope, towards her. She was sure from the red +flannel shirt and the broad hat which he wore that he must be a white +man, and oh! how her heart yearned towards him, whoever he might be! The +sight of an angel from heaven could scarcely have been more welcome to +Benita in her wretchedness. + +Yet surely she must be dreaming. What should a white man and a waggon +be doing in that place? And why had not the Matabele killed him at once? +She could not tell, yet they appeared to have no murderous intentions, +since they continued to gesticulate and talk whilst he stared upwards +with the telescope, if it were a telescope. So things went on for a +long time, for meanwhile the oxen were outspanned, until, indeed, more +Matabele arrived, who led off the white man, apparently against his +will, towards their camp, where he disappeared. Then there was nothing +more to be seen. Benita descended the column. + +At its foot she met her father, who had come to seek her. + +“What is the matter?” he asked, noting her excited face. + +“Oh!” she said or rather sobbed, “there is a waggon with a white man +below. I saw the Matabele capture him.” + +“Then I am sorry for the poor devil,” answered the father, “for he +is dead by now. But what could a white man have been doing here? Some +hunter, I suppose, who has walked into a trap.” + +The face of Benita fell. + +“I hoped,” she said, “that he might help us.” + +“As well might he hope that we could help him. He is gone, and there is +an end. Well, peace to his soul, and we have our own troubles to think +of. I have been to look at that wall, and it is useless to think of +climbing it. If he had been a professional mason, Meyer could not have +built it up better; no wonder that we have seen nothing more of the +Molimo, for only a bird could reach us.” + +“Where was Mr. Meyer?” asked Benita. + +“Asleep in a blanket under a little shelter of boughs by the stair. At +least, I thought so, though it was rather difficult to make him out in +the shadow; at any rate, I saw his rifle set against a tree. Come, let +us go to breakfast. No doubt he will turn up soon enough.” + +So they went, and for the first time since the Sunday Benita ate a +hearty meal of biscuits soaked in coffee. Although her father was so +sure that by now he must have perished on the Matabele spears, the sight +of the white man and his waggon had put new life into her, bringing her +into touch with the world again. After all, might it not chance that he +had escaped? + +All this while there had been no sign of Jacob Meyer. This, however, did +not surprise them, for now he ate his meals alone, taking his food from +a little general store, and cooking it over his own fire. When they had +finished their breakfast Mr. Clifford remarked that they had no more +drinking water left, and Benita said that she would go to fetch a +pailful from the well in the cave. Her father suggested that he should +accompany her, but she answered that it was not necessary as she was +quite able to wind the chain by herself. So she went, carrying the +bucket in one hand and a lamp in the other. + +As she walked down the last of the zigzags leading to the cave, Benita +stopped a moment thinking that she saw a light, and then went on, +since on turning the corner there was nothing but darkness before her. +Evidently she had been mistaken. She reached the well and hung the pail +on to the great copper hook, wondering as she did so how many folk had +done likewise in the far, far past, for the massive metal of that hook +was worn quite thin with use. Then she let the roller run, and the sound +of the travelling chain clanked dismally in that vaulted, empty place. +At length the pail struck the water, and she began to wind up again, +pausing at times to rest, for the distance was long and the chain heavy. +The bucket appeared. Benita drew it to the side of the well, and lifted +it from the hook, then took up her lamp to be gone. + +Feeling or seeing something, which she was not sure, she held the lamp +above her head, and by its light perceived a figure standing between her +and the entrance to the cave. + +“Who are you?” she asked, whereon a soft voice answered out of the +darkness, the voice of Jacob Meyer. + +“Do you mind standing still for a few minutes, Miss Clifford? I have +some paper here and I wish to make a sketch. You do not know how +beautiful you look with that light above your head illuminating the +shadows and the thorn-crowned crucifix beyond. You know, whatever paths +fortune may have led me into, by nature I am an artist, and never in my +life have I seen such a picture. One day it will make me famous. + + ‘How statue-like I see thee stand! + The agate lamp within thy hand.’ + +That’s what I should put under it; you know the lines, don’t you?” + +“Yes, Mr. Meyer, but I am afraid you will have to paint your picture +from memory, as I cannot hold up this lamp any longer; my arm is aching +already. I do not know how you came here, but as you have followed me +perhaps you will be so kind as to carry this water.” + +“I did not follow you, Miss Clifford. Although you never saw me I +entered the cave before you to take measurements.” + +“How can you take measurements in the dark?” + +“I was not in the dark. I put out my light when I caught sight of you, +knowing that otherwise you would run away, and fate stood me in good +stead. You came on, as I willed that you should do. Now let us talk. +Miss Clifford, have you changed your mind? You know the time is up.” + +“I shall never change my mind. Let me pass you, Mr. Meyer.” + +“No, no, not until you have listened. You are very cruel to me, very +cruel indeed. You do not understand that, rather than do you the +slightest harm, I would die a hundred times.” + +“I do not ask you to die; I ask you to leave me alone--a much easier +matter.” + +“But how can I leave you alone when you are a part of me, when--I love +you? There, the truth is out, and now say what you will.” + +Benita lifted the bucket of water; its weight seemed to steady her. Then +she put it down again, since escape was impracticable; she must face the +situation. + +“I have nothing to say, Mr. Meyer, except that _I_ do not love _you_ or +any living man, and I never shall. I thank you for the compliment you +have paid me, and there is an end.” + +“Any living man,” he repeated after her. “That means you love a dead +man--Seymour, he who was drowned. No wonder that I hated him when first +my eyes fell on him years ago, long before you had come into our lives. +Prescience, the sub-conscious self again. Well, what is the use of +loving the dead, those who no longer have any existence, who have +gone back into the clay out of which they were formed and are not, nor +evermore shall be? You have but one life; turn, turn to the living, and +make it happy.” + +“I do not agree with you, Mr. Meyer. To me the dead are still living; +one day I shall find them. Now let me go.” + +“I will not let you go. I will plead and wrestle with you as in the +old fable my namesake of my own race wrestled with the angel, until at +length you bless me. You despise me because I am a Jew, because I have +had many adventures and not succeeded; because you think me mad. But I +tell you that there is the seed of greatness in me. Give yourself to me +and I will make you great, for now I know that it was you whom I needed +to supply what is lacking in my nature. We will win the wealth, and +together we will rule----” + +“Until a few days hence we starve or the Matabele make an end of us. No, +Mr. Meyer, no,” and she tried to push past him. + +He stretched out his arms and stopped her. + +“Listen,” he said, “I have pleaded with you as man with woman. Now, as +you refuse me and as you alone stand between me and madness, I will take +another course. I am your master, your will is servant to my will; I bid +you obey me.” + +He fixed his eyes upon hers, and Benita felt her strength begin to fail. + +“Ah!” he said, “you are my servant now, and to show it I shall kiss you +on the lips; then I shall throw the sleep upon you, and you will tell me +what I want to know. Afterwards we can be wed when it pleases me. Oh! do +not think that your father will defend you, for if he interferes I shall +kill that foolish old man, whom until now I have only spared for your +sake. Remember that if you make me angry, I shall certainly kill him, +and your father’s blood will be on your head. Now I am going to kiss +you.” + +Benita lifted her hand to find the pistol at her waist. It fell back +again; she had no strength; it was as though she were paralysed as a +bird is paralysed by a snake so that it cannot open its wings and fly +away, but sits there awaiting death. She was given over into the +hands of this man whom she hated. Could Heaven allow such a thing? she +wondered dimly, and all the while his lips drew nearer to her face. + +They touched her own, and then, why or wherefore Benita never +understood, the spell broke. All his power was gone, she was as she had +been, a free woman, mistress of herself. Contemptuously she thrust the +man aside, and, not even troubling to run, lifted her pail of water and +walked away. + +Soon she saw the light again, and joyfully extinguished her lamp. +Indeed, the breast of Benita, which should have been so troubled after +the scene through which she had passed, strangely enough was filled with +happiness and peace. As that glorious sunlight had broken on her eyes, +so had another light of freedom arisen in her soul. She was no longer +afraid of Jacob Meyer; that coward kiss of his had struck off the +shackles which bound her to him. Her mind had been subject to his mind, +but now that his physical nature was brought into the play, his mental +part had lost its hold upon her. + +As she approached the hut she saw her father seated on a stone outside +it, since the poor old man was now so weak and full of pain that he +could not stand for very long, and seeing, remembered Meyer’s threats +against him. At the thought all her new-found happiness departed. + +She might be safe; she felt sure that she was safe, but how about her +father? If Meyer could not get his way probably he would be as good as +his word, and kill him. She shivered at the thought, then, recovering +herself, walked forward steadily with her bucket of water. + +“You have been a long while gone, my love,” said Mr. Clifford. + +“Yes, father, Mr. Meyer was in the cave, and kept me.” + +“How did he get there, and what did he want?” + +“I don’t know how he got there--crept in when we were not looking, I +suppose. But as for what he wanted--listen, dear,” and word for word she +told him what had passed. + +Before she had finished, her father was almost choking with wrath. + +“The dirty Jew! The villain!” he gasped. “I never dreamed that he would +dare to attempt such an outrage. Well, thank Heaven! I can still hold a +rifle, and when he comes out----” + +“Father,” she said gently, “that man is mad. He is not responsible for +his actions, and therefore, except in self-defence, you must not think +of such a thing. As for what he said about you, I believe it was only +an empty threat, and for me you need have no fear, his power over me is +gone; it went like a flash when his lips touched me,” and she rubbed her +own as though to wipe away some stain. “I am afraid of nothing more. I +believe--yes, I believe the old Molimo was right, and that all will end +well----” + +As she was speaking Benita heard a shuffling sound behind her, and +turned to learn its cause. Then she saw a strange sight. Jacob Meyer was +staggering towards them, dragging one foot after the other through the +grass and stones. His face was ghastly pale, his jaw had dropped like +that of a dead man, and his eyes were set wide open and full of horror. + +“What is the matter with you, man?” asked Mr. Clifford. + +“I--I--have seen a ghost,” he whispered. “You did not come back into the +cave, did you?” he added, pointing at Benita, who shook her head. + +“What ghost?” asked Mr. Clifford. + +“I don’t know, but my lamp went out, and then a light began to shine +behind me. I turned, and on the steps of that crucifix I saw a woman +kneeling. Her arms clasped the feet of the figure, her forehead rested +upon the feet, her long black hair flowed down, she was dressed in +white, and the light came from her body and her head. Very slowly she +turned and looked at me, and oh, Heaven! that face----” and he put +his hand before his eyes and groaned. “It was beautiful; yes, yes, but +fearful to see, like an avenging angel. I fled, and the light--only the +light--came with me down the cave, even at the mouth of it there was a +little. I have seen a spirit, I who did not believe in spirits, I have +seen a spirit, and I tell you that not for all the gold in the world +will I enter that place again.” + +Then before they could answer, suddenly as though his fear had got some +fresh hold of him, Jacob sprang forward and fled away, crashing through +the bushes and leaping from rock to rock like a frightened buck. + + + + +XXI + +THE MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD + +“Meyer always said that he did not believe in spirits,” remarked Mr. +Clifford reflectively. + +“Well, he believes in them now,” answered Benita with a little laugh. +“But, father, the poor man is mad, that is the fact of it, and we must +pay no attention to what he says.” + +“The old Molimo and some of his people--Tamas, for instance--declared +that they have seen the ghost of Benita da Ferreira. Are they mad also, +Benita?” + +“I don’t know, father. Who can say? All these things are a mystery. +All I do know is that I have never seen a ghost, and I doubt if I ever +shall.” + +“No, but when you were in that trance something that was not you spoke +out of your mouth, which something said that it was your namesake, the +other Benita. Well, as you say, we can’t fathom these things, especially +in a haunted kind of place like this, but the upshot of it is that I +don’t think we have much more to fear from Jacob.” + +“I am not so sure, father. Mad people change their moods very suddenly.” + +As it happened Benita was quite right. Towards suppertime Jacob Meyer +reappeared, looking pale and shaken, but otherwise much as usual. + +“I had a kind of fit this morning,” he explained, “the result of an +hallucination which seized me when my light went out in that cave. I +remember that I thought I had seen a ghost, whereas I know very +well that no such thing exists. I was the victim of disappointment, +anxieties, and other still stronger emotions,” and he looked at Benita. +“Therefore, please forget anything I said or did, and--would you give me +some supper?” + +Benita did so, and he ate in silence, with some heartiness. When he had +finished his food, and swallowed two or three tots of squareface, he +spoke again: + +“I have come here, where I know I am not welcome, upon business,” he +said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. “I am tired of this place, and +I think it is time that we attained the object of our journey here, +namely, to find the hidden gold. That, as we all know, can only be done +in a certain way, through the clairvoyant powers of one of us and the +hypnotic powers of another. Miss Clifford, I request that you will allow +me to throw you into a state of trance. You have told us everything +else, but you have not yet told us where the treasure is hidden, and +this it is necessary that we should know.” + +“And if I refuse, Mr. Meyer?” + +“Then I am sorry, but I must take means to compel your obedience. Under +those circumstances, much against my will, I shall be obliged”--here +his eye blazed out wildly--“to execute your father, whose obstinacy +and influence stand between us and splendid fortunes. No, Clifford,” he +added, “don’t stretch out your hand towards that rifle, for I am already +covering you with the pistol in my pocket, and the moment your hand +touches it I shall fire. You poor old man, do you imagine for a single +second that, sick as you are, and with your stiff limbs, you can hope to +match yourself against my agility, intellect, and strength? Why, I could +kill you in a dozen ways before you could lift a finger against me, and +by the God I do not believe in, unless your daughter is more compliant, +kill you I will!” + +“That remains to be seen, my friend,” said Mr. Clifford with a laugh, +for he was a brave old man. “I am not certain that the God--whom you do +not believe in--will not kill you first.” + +Now Benita, who had been taking counsel with herself, looked up and said +suddenly: + +“Very well, Mr. Meyer, I consent--because I must. To-morrow morning you +shall try to mesmerize me, if you can, in the same place, before the +crucifix in the cave.” + +“No,” he answered quickly. “It was not there, it was here, and here it +shall be again. The spot you mention is unpropitious to me; the attempt +would fail.” + +“It is the spot that I have chosen,” answered Benita stubbornly. + +“And this is the spot that I have chosen, Miss Clifford, and my will +must prevail over yours.” + +“Because you who do not believe in spirits are afraid to re-enter the +cave, Mr. Meyer, lest you should chance----” + +“Never mind what I am or am not afraid of,” he replied with fury. “Make +your choice between doing my will and your father’s life. To-morrow +morning I shall come for your answer, and if you are still obstinate, +within half an hour he will be dead, leaving you and me alone together. +Oh! you may call me wicked and a villain, but it is you who are wicked, +you, you, _you_ who force me to this deed of justice.” + +Then without another word he sprang up and walked away from them +backwards, as he went covering Mr. Clifford with the pistol which he +had drawn from his pocket. The last that they saw of him were his eyes, +which glowered at them through the darkness like those of a lion. + +“Father,” said Benita, when she was sure that he had gone, “that madman +really means to murder you; there is no doubt of it.” + +“None whatever, dear; if I am alive to-morrow night I shall be lucky, +unless I can kill him first or get out of his way.” + +“Well,” she said hurriedly, “I think you can. I have an idea. He is +afraid to go into that cave, I am sure. Let us hide ourselves there. +We can take food and shall have plenty of water, whereas, unless rain +falls, he can get nothing to drink.” + +“But what then, Benita? We can’t stop in the dark for ever.” + +“No, but we can wait there until something happens. Something must and +will happen. His disease won’t stand still. He may go raving mad and +kill himself. Or he may attempt to attack us, though that is not likely, +and then we must do what we can in self defence. Or help may reach us +from somewhere. At the worst we shall only die as we should have died +outside. Come, let us be quick, lest he should change his mind, and +creep back upon us.” + +So Mr. Clifford gave way, knowing that even if he could steel himself +to do the deed of attempting to kill Jacob, he would have little chance +against that strong and agile man. Such a struggle would only end in his +own death, and Benita must then be left alone with Meyer and his insane +passions. + +Hurriedly they carried their few belongings into the cave. First +they took most of the little store of food that remained, the three +hand-lamps and all the paraffin; there was but one tin. Then returning +they fetched the bucket, the ammunition, and their clothes. Afterwards, +as there was still no sign of Meyer, they even dared to drag in the +waggon tent to make a shelter for Benita, and all the wood that they +had collected for firing. This proved a wearisome business, for the logs +were heavy, and in his crippled state Mr. Clifford could carry no great +burden. Indeed, towards the end Benita was forced to complete the task +alone, while he limped beside her with his rifle, lest Jacob should +surprise them. + +When at length everything was done it was long past midnight, and so +exhausted were they that, notwithstanding their danger, they flung +themselves down upon the canvas tent, which lay in a heap at the end of +the cave near the crucifix, and fell asleep. + +When Benita woke the lamp had gone out, and it was pitch dark. +Fortunately, however, she remembered where she had put the matches and +the lantern with a candle in it. She lit the candle and looked at her +watch. It was nearly six o’clock. The dawn must be breaking outside, +within an hour or two Jacob Meyer would find that they had gone. Suppose +that his rage should overcome his fear and that he should creep upon +them. They would know nothing of it until his face appeared in the faint +ring of light. Or he might even shoot her father out of the darkness. +What could she do that would give them warning? A thought came to her. + +Taking one of the tent ropes and the lantern, for her father still slept +heavily, she went down to the entrance of the cave, and at the end of +the last zigzag where once a door had been, managed to make it fast to a +stone hinge about eighteen inches above the floor, and on the other side +to an eye opposite that was cut in the solid rock to receive a bolt of +wood or iron. Meyer, she knew, had no lamps or oil, only matches and +perhaps a few candles. Therefore if he tried to enter the cave it was +probable that he would trip over the rope and thus give them warning. +Then she went back, washed her face and hands with some water that they +had drawn on the previous night to satisfy their thirst, and tidied +herself as best she could. This done, as her father still slept, she +filled the lamps, lit one of them, and looked about her, for she was +loth to wake him. + +Truly it was an awful place in which to dwell. There above them towered +the great white crucifix; there in the corner were piled the remains of +the Portuguese. A skull with long hair still hanging to it grinned at +her, a withered hand was thrust forward as though to clutch her. Oh, no +wonder that in such a spot Jacob Meyer had seen ghosts! In front, too, +was the yawning grave where they had found the monk; indeed, his bones +wrapped in dark robes still lay within, for Jacob had tumbled them back +again. Then beyond and all around deep, dark, and utter silence. + +At last her father woke, and glad enough was she of his human company. +They breakfasted upon some biscuits and water, and afterwards, while Mr. +Clifford watched near the entrance with his rifle, Benita set to work +to arrange their belongings. The tent she managed to prop up against the +wall of the cave by help of some of the wood which they had carried in. +Beneath it she spread their blankets, that it might serve as a sleeping +place for them both, and outside placed the food and other things. + +While she was thus engaged she heard a sound at the mouth of the +cave--Jacob Meyer was entering and had fallen over her rope. Down it +she ran, lantern in hand, to her father, who, with his rifle raised, was +shouting: + +“If you come in here, I put a bullet through you!” + +Then came the answer in Jacob’s voice, which rang hollow in that vaulted +place: + +“I do not want to come in; I shall wait for you to come out. You cannot +live long in there; the horror of the dark will kill you. I have only to +sit in the sunlight and wait.” + +Then he laughed, and they heard the sound of his footsteps retreating +down the passage. + +“What are we to do?” asked Mr. Clifford despairingly. “We cannot live +without light, and if we have light he will certainly creep to the +entrance and shoot us. He is quite mad now; I am sure of it from his +voice.” + +Benita thought a minute, then she answered: + +“We must build up the passage. Look,” and she pointed to the lumps of +rock that the explosion of their mine had shaken down from the roof, +and the slabs of cement that they had broken from the floor with the +crowbar. “At once, at once,” she went on; “he will not come back for +some hours, probably not till night.” + +So they set to work, and never did Benita labour as it was her lot to do +that day. Such of the fragments as they could lift they carried between +them, others they rolled along by help of the crowbar. For hour after +hour they toiled at their task. Luckily for them, the passage was not +more than three feet wide by six feet six high, and their material was +ample. Before the evening they had blocked it completely with a wall +several feet in thickness, which wall they supported on the inside with +lengths of the firewood lashed across to the old hinges and bolt-holes, +or set obliquely against its face. + +It was done, and they regarded their work with pride, although it seemed +probable that they were building up their own tomb. Because of its +position at an angle of the passage, they knew that Meyer could not get +to it with a pole to batter it down. Also, there was no loose powder +left, so his only chance would be to pull it to pieces with his hands, +and this, they thought, might be beyond his power. At least, should he +attempt it, they would have ample warning. Yet that day was not to pass +without another trouble. + +Just as they had rolled up and levered into place a long fragment of +rock designed to prevent the ends of their supporting pieces of wood +from slipping on the cement floor, Mr. Clifford uttered an exclamation, +then said: + +“I have wrung my back badly. Help me to the tent. I must lie down.” + +Slowly and with great pain they staggered up the cave, Mr. Clifford +leaning on Benita and a stick, till, reaching the tent at last, he +almost fell on to the blankets and remained there practically crippled. + +Now began Benita’s terrible time, the worst of all her life. Every hour +her father became more ill. Even before they took refuge in the cave +he was completely broken down, and now after this accident he began to +suffer very much. His rheumatism or sciatica, or whatever it was, seemed +to settle upon the hurt muscles of his back, causing him so much pain +that he could scarcely sleep for ten minutes at a stretch. Moreover, he +would swallow but little of the rough food which was all Benita was +able to prepare for him; nothing, indeed, except biscuit soaked in black +coffee, which she boiled over a small fire made of wood that they had +brought with them, and occasionally a little broth, tasteless stuff +enough, for it was only the essence of biltong, or sun-dried flesh, +flavoured with some salt. + +Then there were two other terrors against she must fight, the darkness +and the dread of Jacob Meyer. Perhaps the darkness was the worse of +them. To live in that hideous gloom in which their single lamp, for she +dared burn no more lest the oil should give out, seemed but as one star +to the whole night, ah! who that had not endured it could know what it +meant? There the sick man, yonder the grinning skeletons, around the +blackness and the silence, and beyond these again a miserable death, +or Jacob Meyer. But of him Benita saw nothing, though once or twice she +thought that she heard his voice raving outside the wall which they had +built. If so, either he did not try to pull it down, or he failed in +the attempt, or perhaps he feared that should he succeed, he would be +greeted by a bullet. So at last she gave up thinking about him. Should +he force his way into the cave she must deal with the situation as best +she could. Meanwhile, her father’s strength was sinking fast. + +Three awful days went by in this fashion, and the end drew near. +Although she tried to force herself to it, Benita could not swallow +enough food to keep up her strength. Now that the passage was closed the +atmosphere of this old vault, for it was nothing more, thickened by +the smoke of the fire which she was obliged to burn, grew poisonous and +choked her. Want of sleep exhausted her, dread of what the morrow might +bring forth crushed her strong spirit. She began to break down, knowing +that the hour was near when she and her father must die together. + +Once, as she slept awhile at his side, being wakened by his groaning, +Benita looked at her watch. It was midnight. She rose, and going to the +embers of the little fire, warmed up some of her biltong broth which she +poured into a tin pannikin. With difficulty she forced him to swallow +a few mouthfuls of it, then, feeling a sudden weakness, drank the rest +herself. It gave her power to think, and her father dozed off into an +uneasy sleep. + +Alas! thinking was of no use, nothing could be done. There was no hope +save in prayer. Restlessness seized Benita, and taking the lantern she +wandered round the cave. The wall that they had built remained intact, +and oh! to think that beyond it flowed the free air and shone the +blessed stars! Back she came again, skirting the pits that Jacob Meyer +had dug, and the grave of the old monk, till she reached the steps of +the crucifix, and holding up her candle, looked at the thorn-crowned +brow of the Christ above. + +It was wonderfully carved; that dying face was full of pity. Would not +He Whom it represented pity her? She knelt down on the topmost step, and +clasping the pierced feet with her arms, began to pray earnestly, not +for herself but that she might save her father. She prayed as she had +never prayed before, and so praying, sank into a torpor or a swoon. + +It seemed to Benita that this sleep of hers suddenly became alive; in it +she saw many things. For instance, she saw herself seated in a state of +trance upon that very step where now she knelt, while before her stood +her father and Jacob Meyer. Moreover, something spoke in her; she could +not hear a voice, but she seemed to see the words written in the air +before her. These were the words:-- + +“_Clasp the feet of the Christ and draw them to the left. The passage +beneath leads to the chamber where the gold is hid, and thence to the +river bank. That is the secret which ere I depart, I the dead Benita, +pass on to you, the living Benita, as I am commanded. In life and death +peace be to your soul._” + +Thrice did this message appear to repeat itself in the consciousness +of Benita. Then, suddenly as she had slept, she woke again with every +letter of it imprinted on her mind. Doubtless it was a dream, nothing +but a dream bred by the fact that her arms were clasping the feet of the +crucifix. What did it say? “Draw them to the left.” + +She did so, but nothing stirred. Again she tried, and still nothing +stirred. Of course it was a dream. Why had such been sent to mock her? +In a kind of mad irritation she put out all her remaining strength and +wrestled with those stony feet. _They moved a little_--then of a sudden, +without any further effort on her part, swung round as high as the knees +where drapery hung, concealing the join in them. Yes, they swung round, +revealing the head of a stair, up which blew a cold wind that it was +sweet to breathe. + +Benita rose, gasping. Then she seized her lantern and ran to the little +tent where her father lay. + + + + +XXII + +THE VOICE OF THE LIVING + +Mr. Clifford was awake again now. + +“Where have you been?” he asked querulously in a thin voice. “I wanted +you.” Then as the light from the candle shone upon it, he noted the +change that had come over her pale face, and added: “What has happened? +Is Meyer dead? Are we free?” + +Benita shook her head. “He was alive a few hours ago, for I could hear +him raving and shouting outside the wall we built. But, father, it has +all come back to me; I believe that I have found it.” + +“What has come back? What have you found? Are you mad, too, like Jacob?” + +“What something told me when I was in the trance which afterwards I +forgot, but now remember. And I have found the passage which leads to +where they hid the gold. It begins behind the crucifix, where no one +ever thought of looking.” + +This matter of the gold did not seem to interest Mr. Clifford. In his +state all the wealth beneath the soil of Africa would not have appealed +to him. Moreover, he hated the name of that accursed treasure, which was +bringing them to such a miserable end. + +“Where does the passage run? Have you looked?” he asked. + +“Not yet, but the voice in me said--I mean, I dreamed--that it goes down +to the river-side. If you leant on me do you think that you could walk?” + +“Not one inch,” he answered. “Here where I am I shall die.” + +“No, no, don’t talk like that. We may be saved now that I have found +a way. Oh, if only you could--if only you could walk, or if I had the +strength to carry you!” and she wrung her hands and began to weep, so +weak was she. + +Her father looked at her searchingly. Then he said: + +“Well, love, I cannot, so there’s an end. But you can, and you had +better go.” + +“What! And leave you? Never.” + +“Yes, and leave me. Look, there is but a little oil left and only a +few candles. The biscuits are done and neither of us can swallow +that biltong any more. I suppose that I am dying, and your health and +strength are failing you quickly in this darkness; if you stop here +you must soon follow me. And what is the alternative? The madman +outside--that is, if you could find strength to pull down the wall, +which I doubt. You had best go, Benita.” + +But still she said she would not. + +“Do you not see,” he added, “that it is my only chance of life? If you +go you may be able to bring me help before the end comes. Should there +be a passage the probability is that, although they know nothing of +it, it finishes somewhere by the wall of the first enclosure where the +Makalanga are. If so, you may find the Molimo, or if he is dead, Tamas +or one of the others, and they will help us. Go, Benita, go at once.” + +“I never thought of that,” she answered in a changed voice. “Of course, +it may be so, if the passage goes down at all. Well, at least I can look +and come back to tell you.” + +Then Benita placed the remainder of the oil close by her father’s +side, so that he could refill the lamp, for the use of his hands still +remained to him. Also, she set there such crumbs of biscuit as were +left, some of the biltong, a flask of Hollands, and a pail of water. +This done, she put on her long cloak, filled one of its pockets with +biltong, and the other with matches and three of the four remaining +candles. The fourth she insisted on leaving beside her father’s bed. +When everything was ready she knelt down at his side, kissed him, and +from her heart put up a prayer that they might both live to meet again, +although she knew well that this they could scarcely hope to do. + +Had two people ever been in a more dreadful situation, she wondered, as +she looked at her father lying there, whom she must leave to fight with +Death alone in that awful place, while she went forth to meet him in the +unknown bowels of the earth! + +Mr. Clifford read her thoughts. “Yes,” he said, “it is a strange parting +and a wild errand. But who knows? It may please Providence to take you +through, and if not--why, our troubles will soon be over.” + +Then once more they kissed, and not daring to try to speak, Benita tore +herself away. Passing into the passage whereof the lower half of the +crucifix formed the door, she paused for a moment to examine it and to +place a fragment of rock in such fashion that it could not shut again +behind her. Her idea was that it worked by aid of some spring, but now +she saw that this was not so, as the whole mass hung upon three stone +hinges beautifully concealed. The dust and corrosion of ages which had +made this door so hard to open, by filling up the tiny spaces between it +and its framework, had also rendered these cracks utterly imperceptible +to the eye. So accurately was it fashioned, indeed, that no one who did +not know its secret would have discovered it if they searched for months +or years. + +Though at the time Benita took little note of such details, the +passage beyond and the stair descending from it showed the same perfect +workmanship. Evidently this secret way dated not from the Portuguese +period, but from that of the Phoenicians or other ancients, to whose +treasure-chamber it was the approach, opening as it did from their +holy of holies, to which none were admitted save the head priests. The +passage, which was about seven feet high by four wide, had been hewn out +of the live rock of the mountain, for thousands of little marks left by +the workmen’s chisels were still discernible upon its walls. So it was +with the stair, that had been but little used, and remained fresh as the +day when it was finished. + +Down the steps, candle in hand, flitted Benita, counting them as she +went. The thirtieth brought her to a landing. Here it was that she saw +the first traces of that treasure which they had suffered so much to +find. Something glittered at her feet. She picked it up. It was a little +bar of gold weighing two or three ounces that doubtless had been dropped +there. Throwing it down again she looked in front of her, and to her +dismay saw a door of wood with iron bolts. But the bolts had never been +shot, and when she pulled at it the door creaked upon its rusty hinges +and opened. She was on the threshold of the treasure-chamber! + +It was square and of the size of a small room, packed on either side +almost to the low, vaulted roof with small bags of raw hide, carelessly +arranged. Quite near to the door one of these bags had slipped down +and burst open. It was filled with gold, some in ingots and some in raw +nuggets, for there they lay in a shining, scattered heap. As she stooped +to look it came into the mind of Benita that her father had said that in +her trance she had told them that one of the bags of treasure was burst, +and that the skin of which it had been made was black and red. Behold! +before her lay the burst bag, and the colour of the hide was black and +red. + +She shivered. The thing was uncanny, terrible. Uncanny was it also +to see in the thick dust, which in the course of twenty or more of +centuries had gathered on the floor, the mark of footprints, those of +the last persons who had visited this place. There had been two of them, +a man and a woman, and they were no savages, for they wore shoes. Benita +placed her foot in the print left by that dead woman. It filled it +exactly, it might have been her own. Perhaps, she thought to herself, +that other Benita had descended here with her father, after the +Portuguese had hidden away their wealth, that she might be shown where +it was, and of what it consisted. + +One more glance at all this priceless, misery-working gold, and on she +went, she who was seeking the gold of life and liberty for herself and +him who lay above. Supposing that the stairway ended there? She stopped, +she looked round, but could see no other door. To see the better she +halted and opened the glass of her lantern. Still she could perceive +nothing, and her heart sank. Yet why did the candle flicker so fiercely? +And why was the air in this deep place so fresh? She walked forward a +pace or two, then noticed suddenly that those footprints of the dead +that she was following disappeared immediately in front of her, and she +stopped. + +It was but just in time. One step more and she would have fallen down +the mouth of a deep pit. Once it had been covered with a stone, but this +stone was removed, and had never been replaced. Look! there it stood +against the wall of the chamber. Well was this for Benita, since her +frail strength would not have sufficed to stir that massive block, even +if she had discovered its existence beneath the dust. + +Now she saw that down the pit ran another ladderlike stair of stone, +very narrow and precipitous. Without hesitation she began its descent. +Down she went and down--one hundred steps, two hundred steps, two +hundred and seventy-five steps, and all the way wherever the dust had +gathered the man’s and the woman’s footprints ran before her. There was +a double line of them, one line going down and the other line returning. +Those that returned were the last, for often they appeared over those +that descended. Why had these dead people returned, Benita wondered. + +The stair had ended; now she was in a kind of natural cave, for its +sides and roof were rugged; moreover, water trickled and dripped from +them. It was not very large, and it smelt horribly of mud and other +things. Again she searched by the feeble light of her candle, but could +see no exit. Suddenly she saw something else, however, for stepping +on what she took to be a rock, to her horror it moved beneath her. She +heard a snap as of jaws, a violent blow upon the leg nearly knocked +her off her feet, and as she staggered backwards she saw a huge and +loathsome shape rushing away into the darkness. The rock that she had +trodden on was a crocodile which had its den here! With a little scream +she retreated to her stair. Death she had expected--but to be eaten by +crocodiles! + +Yet as Benita stood there panting a blessed hope rose in her breast. If +a crocodile came in there it must also get out, and where such a great +creature could go, a woman would be able to follow. Also, she must be +near the water, since otherwise it could never have chosen this hole for +its habitation. She collected her courage, and having clapped her hands +and waved the lantern about to scare any alligators that might still be +lurking there, hearing and seeing nothing more, she descended to where +she had trodden upon the reptile. Evidently this was its bed, for +its long body had left an impress upon the mud, and all about lay the +remains of creatures that it had brought in for food. Moreover, a path +ran outwards, its well-worn trail distinct even in that light. + +She followed this path, which ended apparently in a blank wall. Then it +was that Benita guessed why those dead folks’ footprints had returned, +for here had been a doorway which in some past age those who used it +built up with blocks of stone and cement. How, then, did the crocodile +get out? Stooping down she searched, and perceived, a few yards to the +right of the door, a hole that looked as though it were water-worn. +Now Benita thought that she understood. The rock was softer here, and +centuries of flood had eaten it away, leaving a crack in the stratum +which the crocodiles had found out and enlarged. Down she went on her +hands and knees, and thrusting the lantern in front of her, crept along +that noisome drain, for this was what it resembled. And now--oh! now she +felt air blowing in her face, and heard the sound of reeds whispering, +and water running, and saw hanging like a lamp in the blue sky, +a star--the morning star! Benita could have wept, she could have +worshipped it, yet she pushed on between rocks till she found herself +among tall reeds, and standing in water. She had gained the banks of the +Zambesi. + +Instantly, by instinct as it were, Benita extinguished her candle, +fearing lest it should betray her, for constant danger had made her very +cunning. The dawn had not yet broken, but the waning moon and the stars +gave a good light. She paused to look. There above her towered the +outermost wall of Bambatse, against which the river washed, except at +such times as the present, when it was very low. + +So she was not in the fortress as she had hoped, but without it, and oh! +what should she do? Go back again? How would that serve her father or +herself? Go on? Then she might fall into the hands of the Matabele whose +camp was a little lower down, as from her perch upon the top of the cone +she had seen that poor white man do. Ah! the white man! If only he lived +and she could reach him! Perhaps they had not killed him after all. It +was madness, yet she would try to discover; something impelled her to +take the risk. If she failed and escaped, perhaps then she might call to +the Makalanga, and they would let down a rope and draw her up the wall +before the Matabele caught her. She would not go back empty-handed, to +die in that dreadful place with her poor father. Better perish here in +the sweet air and beneath the stars, even if it were upon a Matabele +spear, or by a bullet from her own pistol. + +She looked about her to take her bearings in case it should ever be +necessary for her to return to the entrance of the cave. This proved +easy, for a hundred or so feet above her--where the sheer face of the +cliff jutted out a little, at that very spot indeed on which tradition +said that the body of the Señora da Ferreira had struck in its fall, and +the necklace Benita wore to-day was torn from her--a stunted mimosa grew +in some cleft of the rock. To mark the crocodile run itself she bent +down a bunch of reeds, and having first lit a few Tandstickor brimstone +matches and thrown them about inside of it, that the smell of them might +scare the beast should it wish to return, she set her lantern behind a +stone near to the mouth of the hole. + +Then Benita began her journey which, when the river was high, it would +not have been possible for her to make except by swimming. As it was, +a margin of marsh was left between her and the steep, rocky side of the +mount from which the great wall rose, and through this she made her way. +Never was she likely to forget that walk. The tall reeds dripped +their dew upon her until she was soaked; long, black-tailed +finches--saccaboolas the natives call them--flew up undisturbed, and +lobbed away across the river; owls flitted past and bitterns boomed at +the coming of the dawn. Great fish splashed also in the shallows, or +were they crocodiles? Benita hoped not--for one day she had seen enough +of crocodiles. + +It was all very strange. Could she be the same woman, she wondered, +who not a year before had been walking with her cousins down Westbourne +Grove, and studying Whiteley’s windows? What would these cousins say +now if they could see her, white-faced, large-eyed, desperate, splashing +through the mud upon the unknown banks of the Zambesi, flying from death +to death! + +On she struggled, above her the pearly sky in which the stars were +fading, around her the wet reeds, and pervading all the heavy low-lying +mists of dawn. She was past the round of the walls, and at length stood +upon dry ground where the Matabele had made their camp. But in that fog +she saw no Matabele; probably their fires were out, and she chanced +to pass between the sentries. Instinctively, more than by reason, she +headed for that hillock upon which she had seen the white man’s waggon, +in the vague hope that it might still be there. On she struggled, still +on, till at length she blundered against something soft and warm, and +perceived that it was an ox tied to a trek-tow, beyond which were other +oxen and a white waggon-cap. + +So it _was_ still there! But the white man, where was he? Through the +dense mist Benita crept to the disselboom. Then, seeing and hearing +nothing, she climbed to the voorkissie and kneeling on it, separated +the tent flaps and peered into the waggon. Still she could see nothing +because of the mist, yet she heard something, a man breathing in his +sleep. Somehow she thought that it was a white man; a Kaffir did not +breathe like that. She did not know what to do, so remained kneeling +there. It seemed as though the man who was asleep began to feel her +presence, for he muttered to himself--surely the words were English! +Then quite suddenly he struck a match and lit a candle which stood in +a beer bottle by his side. She could not see his face while he lit the +match, for his arm hid it, and the candle burned up slowly. Then the +first thing she saw was the barrel of a revolver pointing straight at +her. + +“Now, my black friend,” said a pleasant voice, “down you go or I shoot. +One, two! Oh, my God!” + +The candle burned up, its light fell upon the white, elfish face of +Benita, whose long dark hair streamed about her; it shone in her great +eyes. Still she could see nothing, for it dazzled her. + +“Oh, my God!” said the voice again. “Benita! Benita! Have you come to +tell me that I must join you? Well, I am ready, my sweet, my sweet! Now +I shall hear your answer.” + +“Yes,” she whispered, and crawling forward down the cartel Benita fell +upon his breast. + +For she knew him at last--dead or living she cared not--she knew him, +and out of hell crept to him, her heaven and her home! + + + + +XXIII + +BENITA GIVES HER ANSWER + +“Your answer, Benita,” Robert said dreamily, for to him this thing +seemed a dream. + +“Have I not given it, months ago? Oh, I remember, it was only in my +heart, not on my lips, when that blow fell on me! Then afterwards I +heard what you had done and I nearly died. I wished that I might die +to be with you, but I could not. I was too strong; now I understand the +reason. Well, it seems that we are both living, and whatever happens, +here is my answer, if it is worth anything to you. Once and for all, +I love you. I am not ashamed to say it, because very soon we may be +separated for the last time. But I cannot talk now, I have come here to +save my father.” + +“Where is he, Benita?” + +“Dying in a cave up at the top of that fortress. I got down by a secret +way. Are the Matabele still here?” + +“Very much so,” he answered. “But something has happened. My guard woke +me an hour ago to say that a messenger had arrived from their king, +Lobengula, and now they are talking over the message. That is how you +came to get through, otherwise the sentries would have assegaied you, +the brutes,” and he drew her to him and kissed her passionately for the +first time; then, as though ashamed of himself, let her go. + +“Have you anything to eat?” she asked. “I--I--am starving. I didn’t feel +it before, but now----” + +“Starving, you starving, while I--look, here is some cold meat which +I could not get down last night, and put by for the Kaffirs. Great +Heavens! that I should feed you with Kaffirs’ leavings! But it is +good--eat it.” + +Benita took the stuff in her fingers and swallowed it greedily; she +who for days had lived on nothing but a little biscuit and biltong. It +tasted delicious to her--never had she eaten anything so good. And all +the while he watched her with glowing eyes. + +“How can you look at me?” she said at length. “I must be horrible; I +have been living in the dark and crawling through mud. I trod upon a +crocodile!” and she shuddered. + +“Whatever you are I never want to see you different,” he answered +slowly. “To me you are most beautiful.” + +Even then, wreck as she was, the poor girl flushed, and there was a mist +in her eyes as she looked up and said: + +“Thank you. I don’t care now what happens to me, and what has happened +doesn’t matter at all. But can we get away?” + +“I don’t know,” he answered; “but I doubt it. Go and sit on the +waggon-box for a few minutes while I dress, and we will see.” + +Benita went. The mist was thinning now, and through it she saw a sight +at which her heart sank, for between her and the mount Bambatse Matabele +were pouring towards their camp on the river’s edge. They were cut off. +A couple of minutes later Robert joined her, and as he came she looked +at him anxiously in the growing light. He seemed older than when +they had parted on the _Zanzibar_; changed, too, for now his face was +serious, and he had grown a beard; also, he appeared to limp. + +“I am afraid there is an end,” she said, pointing to the Matabele below. + +“Yes, it looks like it. But like you, I say, what does it matter now?” + and he took her hand in his, adding: “let us be happy while we can if +only for a few minutes. They will be here presently.” + +“What are you?” she asked. “A prisoner?” + +“That’s it. I was following you when they captured me; for I have been +here before and knew the way. They were going to kill me on general +principles, only it occurred to one of them who was more intelligent +than the rest that I, being a white man, might be able to show them how +to storm the place. Now I was sure that you were there, for I saw you +standing on that point, though they thought you were the Spirit of +Bambatse. So I wasn’t anxious to help them, for then--you know what +happens when the Matabele are the stormers! But--as you still lived--I +wasn’t anxious to die either. So I set them to work to dig a hole with +their assegais and sharp axes, through granite. They have completed +exactly twenty feet of it, and I reckon that there are one hundred and +forty to go. Last night they got tired of that tunnel and talked of +killing me again, unless I could show them a better plan. Now all the +fat is in the fire, and I don’t know what is to happen. Hullo! here they +come. Hide in the waggon, quick!” + +Benita obeyed, and from under cover of the tent where the Matabele could +not see her, watched and listened. The party that approached consisted +of a chief and about twenty men, who marched behind him as a guard. +Benita knew that chief. He was the captain Maduna, he of the royal blood +whose life she had saved. By his side was a Natal Zulu, Robert Seymour’s +driver, who could speak English and acted as interpreter. + +“White man,” said Maduna, “a message has reached us from our king. +Lobengula makes a great war and has need of us. He summons us back from +this petty fray, this fight against cowards who hide behind walls, whom +otherwise we would have killed, everyone, yes, if we sat here till we +grew old. So for this time we leave them alone.” + +Robert answered politely that he was glad to hear it, and wished them a +good journey. + +“Wish yourself a good journey, white man,” was the stern reply. + +“Why? Do you desire that I should accompany you to Lobengula?” + +“No, you go before us to the kraal of the Black One who is even greater +than the child of Moselikatse, to that king who is called Death.” + +Robert crossed his arms and said: “Say on.” + +“White man, I promised you life if you would show us how to pierce or +climb those walls. But you have made fools of us--you have set us to cut +through rock with spears and axes. Yes, to hoe at rock as though it were +soil--you who with the wisdom of your people could have taught us some +better way. Therefore we must go back to our king disgraced, having +failed in his service, and therefore you who have mocked us shall die. +Come down now, that we may kill you quietly, and learn whether or no you +are a brave man.” + +Then it was, while her lover’s hand was moving towards the pistol hidden +beneath his coat, that Benita, with a quick movement, emerged from the +waggon in which she crouched, and stood up at his side upon the driving +box. + +“_Ow!_” said the Captain. “It is the White Maiden. Now how came she +here? Surely this is great magic. Can a woman fly like a bird?” and they +stared at her amazed. + +“What does it matter how I came, chief Maduna?” she answered in Zulu. +“Yet I will tell you why I came. It was to save you from dipping your +spear in the innocent blood, and bringing on your head the curse of the +innocent blood. Answer me now. Who gave you and your brother yonder your +lives within that wall when the Makalanga would have torn you limb from +limb, as hyenas tear a buck? Was it I or another?” + +“Inkosi-kaas--Chieftainess,” replied the great Captain, raising his +broad spear in salute. “It was you and no other.” + +“And what did you promise me then, Prince Maduna?” + +“Maiden of high birth, I promised you your life and your goods, should +you ever fall into my power.” + +“Does a leader of the Amandabele, one of the royal blood, lie like a +Mashona or a Makalanga slave? Does he do worse--tell half the truth +only, like a cheat who buys and keeps back half the price?” she asked +contemptuously. “Maduna, you promised me not one life, but two, two +lives and the goods that belong to both. Ask of your brother there, who +was witness of the words.” + +“Great Heavens!” muttered Robert Seymour to himself, as he looked at +Benita standing with outstretched hand and flashing eyes. “Who would +have thought that a starved woman could play such a part with death on +the hazard?” + +“It is as this daughter of white chiefs says,” answered the man to whom +she had appealed. “When she freed us from the fangs of those dogs, you +promised her two lives, my brother, one for yours and one for mine.” + +“Hear him,” went on Benita. “He promised me two lives, and how did this +prince of the royal blood keep his promise? When I and the old man, my +father, rode hence in peace, he loosed his spears upon us; he hunted us. +Yet it was the hunters who fell into the trap, not the hunted.” + +“Maiden,” replied Maduna, in a shamed voice, “that was your fault, not +mine. If you had appealed to me I would have let you go. But you killed +my sentry, and then the chase began, and ere I knew who you were my +runners were out of call.” + +“Little time had I to ask your mercy; but so be it,” said Benita. “I +accept your word, and I forgive you that offence. Now fulfil your oath. +Begone and leave us in peace.” + +Still Maduna hesitated. + +“I must make report to the king,” he said. “What is this white man to +you that I should spare him? I give you your life and your father’s +life, not that of this white man who has tricked us. If he were your +father, or your brother, it would be otherwise. But he is a stranger, +and belongs to me, not to you.” + +“Maduna,” she asked, “do women such as I am share the waggon of a +stranger? This man is more to me than father or brother. He is my +husband, and I claim his life.” + +“_Ow!_” said the spokesman of the audience, “we understand now. She is +his wife, and has a right to him. If she were not his wife she would not +be in his waggon. It is plain that she speaks the truth, though how she +came here we do not know, unless, as we think, she is a witch,” and he +smiled at his own cleverness. + +“Inkosi-kaas,” said Maduna, “you have persuaded me. I give you the life +of that white fox, your husband, and I hope that he will not trick you +as he has tricked us, and set you to hoe rock instead of soil,” and he +looked at Robert wrathfully. “I give him to you and all his belongings. +Now, is there anything else that you would ask?” + +“Yes,” replied Benita coolly, “you have many oxen there which you took +from the other Makalanga. Mine are eaten and I need cattle to draw +my waggon. I ask a present of twenty of them, and,” she added by an +afterthought, “two cows with young calves, for my father is sick yonder, +and must have milk.” + +“Oh! give them to her. Give them to her,” said Maduna, with a tragic +gesture that in any other circumstances would have made Benita laugh. +“Give them to her and see that they are good ones, before she asks our +shields and spears also--for after all she saved my life.” + +So men departed to fetch those cows and oxen, which presently were +driven in. + +While this talk was in progress the great impi of the Matabele was +massing for the march, on the flat ground a little to the right of +them. Now they began to come past in companies, preceded by the lads +who carried the mats and cooking-pots and drove the captured sheep and +cattle. By this time the story of Benita, the witch-woman whom they +could not kill, and who had mysteriously flown from the top of the peak +into their prisoner’s waggon, had spread among them. They knew also that +it was she who had saved their general from the Makalanga, and those who +had heard her admired the wit and courage with which she had pleaded +and won her cause. Therefore, as they marched past in their companies, +singing a song of abuse and defiance of the Makalanga who peered at them +from the top of the wall, they lifted their great spears in salutation +to Benita standing upon the waggon-box. + +Indeed, they were a wondrous and imposing spectacle, such a one as few +white women have ever seen. + +At length all were gone except Maduna and a body-guard of two hundred +men. He walked to the front of the waggon and addressed Robert Seymour. + +“Listen, you fox who set us to hoe granite,” he said indignantly. “You +have outwitted us this time, but if ever I meet you again, then you die. +Now I have given you your life, but,” he added, almost pleadingly, “if +you are really brave as white men are said to be, will you not come down +and fight me man to man for honour’s sake?” + +“I think not,” answered Robert, when he understood this challenge, “for +what chance should I have against so brave a warrior? Also this lady--my +wife--needs my help on her journey home.” + +Maduna turned from him contemptuously to Benita. + +“I go,” he said, “and fear not; you will meet no Matabele on that +journey. Have you more words for me, O Beautiful One, with a tongue of +oil and a wit that cuts like steel?” + +“Yes,” answered Benita. “You have dealt well with me, and in reward I +give you of my good luck. Bear this message to your king from the +White Witch of Bambatse, for I am she and no other. That he leave these +Makalanga, my servants, to dwell unharmed in their ancient home, and +that he lift no spear against the White Men, lest that evil which the +Molimo foretold to you, should fall upon him.” + +“Ah!” said Maduna, “now I understand how you flew from the mountain top +into this man’s waggon. You are not a white woman, you are the ancient +Witch of Bambatse herself. You have said it, and with such it is not +well to war. Great lady of Magic, Spirit from of old, I salute you, and +I thank you for your gifts of life and fortune. Farewell.” + +Then he, too, stalked away at the head of his guard, so that presently, +save for the three Zulu servants and the herd of cattle, Robert and +Benita were left utterly alone. + +Now, her part played and the victory won, Benita burst into tears and +fell upon her lover’s breast. + +Presently she remembered, and freed herself from his arms. + +“I am a selfish wretch,” she said. “How dare I be so happy when my +father is dead or dying? We must go at once.” + +“Go where?” asked the bewildered Robert. + +“To the top of the mountain, of course, whence I came. Oh! please don’t +stop to question me, I’ll tell you as we walk. Stay,” and she called +to the Zulu driver, who with an air of utter amazement was engaged in +milking one of the gift cows, to fill two bottles with the milk. + +“Had we not better shout to the Makalanga to let us in?” suggested +Robert, while this was being done, and Benita wrapped some cooked meat +in a cloth. + +“No, no. They will think I am what I said I was--the Witch of Bambatse, +whose appearance heralds misfortune, and fear a trap. Besides, we could +not climb the top wall. You must follow my road, and if you can trust +them, bring two of those men with you with lanterns. The lad can stop to +herd the cattle.” + +Three minutes later, followed by the two Zulus, they were walking--or +rather, running--along the banks of the Zambesi. + +“Why do you not come quicker?” she asked impatiently. “Oh, I beg your +pardon, you are lame. Robert, what made you lame, and oh! why are you +not dead, as they all swore you were, you, you--hero, for I know that +part of the story?” + +“For a very simple reason, Benita: because I didn’t die. When that +Kaffir took the watch from me I was insensible, that’s all. The sun +brought me to life afterwards. Then some natives turned up, good people +in their way, although I could not understand a word they said. They +made a stretcher of boughs and carried me for some miles to their kraal +inland. It hurt awfully, for my thigh was broken, but I arrived at last. +There a Kaffir doctor set my leg in his own fashion; it has left it an +inch shorter than the other, but that’s better than nothing. + +“In that place I lay for two solid months, for there was no white +man within a hundred miles, and if there had been I could not have +communicated with him. Afterwards I spent another month limping up +towards Natal, until I could buy a horse. The rest is very short. +Hearing of my reported death, I came as fast as I could to your father’s +farm, Rooi Krantz, where I learned from the old vrouw Sally that you had +taken to treasure-hunting, the same treasure that I told you of on the +_Zanzibar_. + +“So I followed your spoor, met the servants whom you had sent back, who +told me all about you, and in due course, after many adventures, as they +say in a book, walked into the camp of our friends, the Matabele. + +“They were going to kill me at once, when suddenly you appeared upon +that point of rock, glittering like--like the angel of the dawn. I knew +that it must be you, for I had found out about your attempted escape, +and how you were hunted back to this place. But the Matabele all thought +that it was the Spirit of Bambatse, who has a great reputation in these +parts. Well, that took off their attention, and afterwards, as I told +you, it occurred to them that I might be an engineer. You know the rest, +don’t you?” + +“Yes,” answered Benita softly. “I know the rest.” + +Then they plunged into the reeds and were obliged to stop talking, since +they must walk in single file. Presently Benita looked up and saw that +she was under the thorn which grew in the cleft of the rock. Also, with +some trouble she found the bunch of reeds that she had bent down, to +mark the inconspicuous hole through which she had crept, and by it her +lantern. It seemed weeks since she had left it there. + +“Now,” she said, “light your candles, and if you see a crocodile, please +shoot.” + + + + +XXIV + +THE TRUE GOLD + +“Let me go first,” said Robert. + +“No,” answered Benita. “I know the way; but please do watch for that +horrible crocodile.” + +Then she knelt down and crept into the hole, while after her came +Robert, and after him the two Zulus, who protested that they were not +ant-bears to burrow under ground. Lifting the lantern she searched the +cave, and as she could see no signs of the crocodile, walked on boldly +to where the stair began. + +“Be quick,” she whispered to Robert, for in that place it seemed natural +to speak low. “My father is above and near his death. I am dreadfully +afraid lest we should be too late.” + +So they toiled up the endless steps, a very strange procession, for the +two Zulus, bold men enough outside, were shaking with fright, till at +length Benita clambered out of the trap door on to the floor of the +treasure chamber, and turned to help Robert, whose lameness made him +somewhat slow and awkward. + +“What’s all that?” he asked, pointing to the hide sacks, while they +waited for the two scared Kaffirs to join them. + +“Oh!” she answered indifferently, “gold, I believe. Look, there is some +of it on the floor, over Benita da Ferreira’s footsteps.” + +“Gold! Why, it must be worth----! And who on earth is Benita da +Ferreira?” + +“I will tell you afterwards. She has been dead two or three hundred +years; it was her gold, or her people’s, and those are her footprints in +the dust. How stupid you are not to understand! Never mind the hateful +stuff; come on quickly.” + +So they passed the door which she had opened that morning, and clambered +up the remaining stairway. So full was Benita of terrors that she +could never remember how she climbed them. Suppose that the foot of the +crucifix had swung to; suppose that her father were dead; suppose that +Jacob Meyer had broken into the cave? Well for herself she was no longer +afraid of Jacob Meyer. Oh, they were there! The heavy door _had_ begun +to close, but mercifully her bit of rock kept it ajar. + +“Father! Father!” she cried, running towards the tent. + +No answer came. She threw aside the flap, held down the lantern and +looked. There he lay, white and still. She was too late! + +“He is dead, he is dead!” she wailed. Robert knelt down at her side, and +examined the old man, while she waited in an agony. + +“He ought to be,” he said slowly; “but, Benita, I don’t think he is. I +can feel his heart stir. No, don’t stop to talk. Pour out some of that +squareface, and here, mix it with this milk.” + +She obeyed, and while he held up her father’s head, with a trembling +hand emptied a little of the drink into his mouth. At first it ran out +again, then almost automatically he swallowed some, and they knew that +he was alive, and thanked Heaven. Ten minutes later Mr. Clifford was +sitting up staring at them with dull and wondering eyes, while +outside the two Zulus, whose nerves had now utterly broken down, were +contemplating the pile of skeletons in the corner and the white towering +crucifix, and loudly lamenting that they should have been brought to +perish in this place of bones and ghosts. + +“Is it Jacob Meyer who makes that noise?” asked Mr. Clifford faintly. +“And, Benita, where have you been so long, and--who is this gentleman +with you? I seem to remember his face.” + +“He is the white man who was in the waggon, father, an old friend come +to life again. Robert, can’t you stop the howling of those Kaffirs? +Though I am sure I don’t wonder that they howl; I should have liked +to do so for days. Oh! father, father, don’t you understand me? We are +saved, yes, snatched out of hell and the jaws of death.” + +“Is Jacob Meyer dead, then?” he asked. + +“I don’t know where he is or what has happened to him, and I don’t care, +but perhaps we had better find out. Robert, there is a madman outside. +Make the Kaffirs pull down that wall, would you? and catch him.” + +“What wall? What madman?” he asked, staring at her. + +“Oh, of course you don’t know that, either. You know nothing. I’ll show +you, and you must be prepared, for probably he will shoot at us.” + +“It all sounds a little risky, doesn’t it?” asked Robert doubtfully. + +“Yes, but we must take the risk. We cannot carry my father down that +place, and unless we can get him into light and air soon, he will +certainly die. The man outside is Jacob Meyer, his partner--you remember +him. All these weeks of hardship and treasure-hunting have sent him off +his head, and he wanted to mesmerize me and----” + +“And what? Make love to you?” + +She nodded, then went on: + +“So when he could not get his way about the mesmerism and so forth, he +threatened to murder my father, and that is why we had to hide in this +cave and build ourselves up, till at last I found the way out.” + +“Amiable gentleman, Mr. Jacob Meyer, now as always,” said Robert +flushing. “To think that you should have been in the power of a +scoundrel like that! Well, I hope to come square with him.” + +“Don’t hurt him, dear, unless you are obliged. Remember he is not +responsible. He thought he saw a ghost here the other day.” + +“Unless he behaves himself he is likely to see a good many soon,” + muttered Robert. + +Then they went down the cave, and as silently as possible began to work +at the wall, destroying in a few minutes what had been built up with so +much labour. When it was nearly down the Zulus were told that there was +an enemy outside, and that they must help to catch him if necessary, but +were not to harm him. They assented gladly enough; indeed, to get out of +that cave they would have faced half a dozen enemies. + +Now there was a hole right through the wall, and Robert bade Benita +stand to one side. Then as soon as his eyes became accustomed to the +little light that penetrated there, he drew his revolver and beckoned +the Kaffirs to follow. Down the passage they crept, slowly, lest they +should be blinded when they came to the glare of the sunshine, while +Benita waited with a beating heart. + +A little time went by, she never knew how long, till suddenly a rifle +shot rang through the stillness. Benita was able to bear no more. She +rushed down the winding passage, and presently, just beyond its mouth, +in a blurred and indistinct fashion saw that the two white men were +rolling together on the ground, while the Kaffirs sprang round watching +for an opportunity to seize one of them. At that moment they succeeded, +and Robert rose, dusting his hands and knees. + +“Amiable gentleman, Mr. Jacob Meyer,” he repeated. “I could have killed +him as his back was towards me, but didn’t because you asked me not. +Then I stumbled with my lame leg, and he whipped round and let drive +with his rifle. Look,” and he showed her where the bullet had cut his +ear. “Luckily I got hold of him before he could loose off another.” + +Benita could find no words, her heart was too full of thankfulness. Only +she seized Robert’s hand and kissed it. Then she looked at Jacob. + +He was lying upon the broad of his back, the two big Zulus holding his +arms and legs; his lips were cracked, blue and swollen; his face was +almost black, but his eyes still shone bright with insanity and hate. + +“I know you,” he screamed hoarsely to Robert. “You are another ghost, +the ghost of that man who was drowned. Otherwise my bullet would have +killed you.” + +“Yes, Mr. Meyer,” Seymour answered, “I am a ghost. Now, you boys, here’s +a bit of rope. Tie his hands behind his back and search him. There is a +pistol in that pocket.” + +They obeyed, and presently Meyer was disarmed and bound fast to a tree. + +“Water,” he moaned. “For days I have had nothing but the dew I could +lick off the leaves.” + +Pitying his plight, Benita ran into the cave and returned presently with +a tin of water. One of the Kaffirs held it to his lips, and he drank +greedily. Then, leaving one Zulu to watch him, Robert, Benita, and +the other Zulu went back, and as gently as they could carried out Mr. +Clifford on his mattress, placing him in the shade of a rock, where he +lay blessing them feebly, because they had brought him into the light +again. At the sight of the old man Meyer’s rage blazed up afresh. + +“Ah,” he screamed, “if only I had killed you long ago, she would be mine +now, not that fellow’s. It was you who stood between us.” + +“Look here, my friend,” broke in Robert. “I forgive you everything else, +but, mad or sane, be good enough to keep Miss Clifford’s name off your +lips, or I will hand you over to those Kaffirs to be dealt with as you +deserve.” + +Then Jacob understood, and was silent. They gave him more water and +food to eat, some of the meat that they had brought with them, which he +devoured ravenously. + +“Are you sensible now?” asked Robert when he had done. “Then listen to +me; I have some good news for you. That treasure you have been hunting +for has been found. We are going to give you half of it, one of the +waggons and some oxen, and clear you out of this place. Then if I set +eyes on you again before we get to a civilized country, I shoot you like +a dog.” + +“You lie!” said Meyer sullenly. “You want to turn me out into the +wilderness to be murdered by the Makalanga or the Matabele.” + +“Very well,” said Robert. “Untie him, boys, and bring him along. I will +show him whether I lie.” + +“Where are they taking me to?” asked Meyer. “Not into the cave? I won’t +go into the cave; it is haunted. If it hadn’t been for the ghost there +I would have broken down their wall long ago, and killed that old snake +before her eyes. Whenever I went near that wall I saw it watching me.” + +“First time I ever heard of a ghost being useful,” remarked Robert. +“Bring him along. No, Benita, he shall see whether I am a liar.” + +So the lights were lit, and the two stalwart Zulus hauled Jacob forward, +Robert and Benita following. At first he struggled violently, then, on +finding that he could not escape, went on, his teeth chattering with +fear. + +“It is cruel,” remonstrated Benita. + +“A little cruelty will not do him any harm,” Robert answered. “He has +plenty to spare for other people. Besides, he is going to get what he +has been looking for so long.” + +They led Jacob to the foot of the crucifix, where a paroxysm seemed to +seize him, then pushed him through the swinging doorway beneath, +and down the steep stairs, till once more they all stood in the +treasure-chamber. + +“Look,” said Robert, and, drawing his hunting-knife, he slashed one of +the hide bags, whereon instantly there flowed out a stream of beads and +nuggets. “Now, my friend, am I a liar?” he asked. + +At this wondrous sight Jacob’s terror seemed to depart from him, and he +grew cunning. + +“Beautiful, beautiful!” he said, “more than I thought--sacks and sacks +of gold. I shall be a king indeed. No, no, it is all a dream--like the +rest. I don’t believe it’s there. Loose my arms and let me feel it.” + +“Untie him,” said Robert, at the same time drawing his pistol and +covering the man; “he can’t do us any hurt.” + +The Kaffirs obeyed, and Jacob, springing at the slashed bag, plunged his +thin hands into it. + +“No lie,” he screamed, “no lie,” as he dragged the stuff out and smelt +at it. “Gold, gold, gold! Hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of +gold! Let’s make a bargain, Englishman, and I won’t kill you as I meant +to do. You take the girl and give me all the gold,” and in his ecstasy +he began to pour the glittering ingots over his head and body. + +“A new version of the tale of Danaë,” began Robert in a sarcastic +voice, then suddenly paused, for a change had come over Jacob’s face, a +terrible change. + +It turned ashen beneath the tan, his eyes grew large and round, he put +up his hands as though to thrust something from him, his whole frame +shivered, and his hair seemed to erect itself. Slowly he retreated +backwards, and would have fallen down the unclosed trap-hole had not one +of the Kaffirs pushed him away. Back he went, still back, till he struck +the further wall and stood there, perhaps for half a minute. He lifted +his hand and pointed first to those ancient footprints, some of which +still remained in the dust of the floor, and next, as they thought, at +Benita. His lips moved fast, he seemed to be pleading, remonstrating, +yet--and this was the ghastliest part of it--from them there came no +sound. Lastly, his eyes rolled up until only the whites of them were +visible, his face became wet as though water had been poured over it, +and, still without a sound, he fell forward and moved no more. + +So terrible was the scene that with a howl of fear the two Kaffirs +turned and fled up the stairway. Robert sprang to the Jew, dragged +him over on to his back, put his hand upon his breast and lifted his +eyelids. + +“Dead,” he said. “Stone dead. Privation, brain excitement, heart +failure--that’s the story.” + +“Perhaps,” answered Benita faintly; “but really I think that I begin to +believe in ghosts also. Look, I never noticed them before, and I didn’t +walk there, but those footsteps seem to lead right up to him.” Then she +turned too and fled. + + +Another week had gone by. The waggons were laden with a burden more +precious perhaps than waggons have often borne before. In one of them, +on a veritable bed of gold, slept Mr. Clifford, still very weak and +ill, but somewhat better than he had been, and with a good prospect +of recovery, at any rate for a while. They were to trek a little after +dawn, and already Robert and Benita were up and waiting. She touched his +arm and said to him: + +“Come with me. I have a fancy to see that place once more, for the last +time.” + +So they climbed the hill and the steep steps in the topmost wall that +Meyer had blocked--re-opened now--and reaching the mouth of the cave, +lit the lamps which they had brought with them, and entered. There were +the fragments of the barricade that Benita had built with desperate +hands, there was the altar of sacrifice standing cold and grey as it had +stood for perhaps three thousand years. There was the tomb of the old +monk who had a companion now, for in it Jacob Meyer lay with him, his +bones covered by the _débris_ that he himself had dug out in his mad +search for wealth; and there the white Christ hung awful on His cross. +Only the skeletons of the Portuguese were gone, for with the help of his +Kaffirs Robert had moved them every one into the empty treasure-chamber, +closing the trap beneath, and building up the door above, so that there +they might lie in peace at last. + +In this melancholy place they tarried but a little while, then, turning +their backs upon it for ever, went out and climbed the granite cone to +watch the sun rise over the broad Zambesi. Up it came in glory, that +same sun which had shone upon the despairing Benita da Ferreira, and +upon the English Benita when she had stood there in utter hopelessness, +and seen the white man captured by the Matabele. + +Now, different was their state indeed, and there in that high place, +whence perhaps many a wretched creature had been cast to death, whence +certainly the Portuguese maiden had sought her death, these two happy +beings were not ashamed to give thanks to Heaven for the joy which it +had vouchsafed to them, and for their hopes of life full and long to be +travelled hand in hand. Behind them was the terror of the cave, beneath +them were the mists of the valley, but above them the light shone and +rolled and sparkled, and above them stretched the eternal sky! + +They descended the pillar, and near the foot of it saw an old man +sitting. It was Mambo, the Molimo of the Makalanga: even when they were +still far away from him they knew his snow-white head and thin, ascetic +face. As they drew near Benita perceived that his eyes were closed, and +whispered to Robert that he was asleep. Yet he had heard them coming, +and even guessed her thought. + +“Maiden,” he said in his gentle voice, “maiden who soon shall be a wife, +I do not sleep, although I dream of you as I have dreamt before. What +did I say to you that day when first we met? That for you I had good +tidings; that though death was all about you, you need not fear; that +in this place you who had known great sorrow should find happiness +and rest. Yet, maiden, you would not believe the words of the Munwali, +spoken by his prophet’s lips, as he at your side, who shall be your +husband, would not believe me in years past when I told him that we +should meet again.” + +“Father,” she answered, “I thought your rest was that which we find only +in the grave.” + +“You would not believe,” he went on without heeding her, “and therefore +you tried to fly, and therefore your heart was torn with terror and with +agony, when it should have waited for the end in confidence and peace.” + +“Father, my trial was very sore.” + +“Maiden, I know it, and because it was so sore that patient Spirit of +Bambatse bore with you, and through it all guided your feet aright. Yes, +with you has that Spirit gone, by day, by night, in the morning and in +the evening. Who was it that smote the man who lies dead yonder with +horror and with madness when he would have bent your will to his and +made you a wife to him? Who was it that told you the secret of the +treasure-pit, and what footsteps went before you down its stair? Who was +it that led you past the sentries of the Amandabele and gave you wit and +power to snatch your lord’s life from Maduna’s bloody hand? Yes, with +you it has gone and with you it will go. No more shall the White Witch +stand upon the pillar point at the rising of the sun, or in the shining +of the moon.” + +“Father, I have never understood you, and I do not understand you now,” + said Benita. “What has this spirit to do with me?” + +He smiled a little, then answered slowly: + +“That I may not tell you; that you shall learn one day, but never here. +When you also have entered into silence, then you shall learn. But I say +to you that this shall not be till your hair is as white as mine, and +your years are as many. Ah! you thought that I had deserted you, when +fearing for your father’s life you wept and prayed in the darkness of +the cave. Yet it was not so, for I did but suffer the doom which I had +read to fulfil itself as it must do.” + +He rose to his feet and, resting on his staff, laid one withered hand +upon the head of Benita. + +“Maiden,” he said, “we meet no more beneath the sun. Yet because you +have brought deliverance to my people, because you are sweet and pure +and true, take with you the blessing of Munwali, spoken by the mouth of +his servant Mambo, the old Molimo of Bambatse. Though from time to time +you must know tears and walk in the shade of sorrows, long and happy +shall be your days with him whom you have chosen. Children shall spring +up about you, and children’s children, and with them also shall the +blessing go. The gold you white folk love is yours, and it shall +multiply and give food to the hungry and raiment to those that are +a-cold. Yet in your own heart lies a richer store that cannot melt away, +the countless treasure of mercy and of love. When you sleep and when +you wake Love shall take you by the hand, till at length he leads you +through life’s dark cave to that eternal house of purest gold which soon +or late those that seek it shall inherit,” and with his staff he pointed +to the glowing morning sky wherein one by one little rosy clouds floated +upwards and were lost. + +To Robert and to Benita’s misty eyes they looked like bright-winged +angels throwing wide the black doors of night, and heralding that +conquering glory at whose advent despair and darkness flee away. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BENITA *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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