“Why no,” was the meditative answer. “But do you think you can do it, Elvesdon?”
“I had hopes. But why I mention it—here and now of all places—is because if you should get away and I should not, I should like Edala to know that my last thoughts were of her, as indeed all my thoughts have been ever since I’ve known her. She is unique, Thornhill. I don’t suppose there’s another girl in the world in the least like her.”
“First of all Elvesdon, don’t talk of me getting away, and you not. Is that likely now? We stand or fall together. And if they want a second blood feast—the damned butchering brutes—they can take it out of me. You’re the younger man of the two, and have a sight more life in front of you than I have. So you skip away if you see a chance while they are busy with me.”
Elvesdon laughed, rather mirthlessly.
“That would be such a noble way of returning to Edala, wouldn’t it? How she’d thank me for coming to tell her I’d left her father to be chopped to pieces in order to save my own precious skin on her account, wouldn’t she? No, I’m afraid you must ‘ask us another,’ Thornhill.”
The latter suddenly sprang to his feet.
“Come on Elvesdon. We must buck up, man. We’re both getting too much into the holy blues. But the sight of that poor young devil being butchered this morning got on to even my tough old time-hardened nerves, I allow. Well, to get back to what you were saying. If we’re lucky and get out of this, you are welcome to try your chances with Edala—from what I’ve seen of you I can say that wholeheartedly. Only I warn you that—to use your own words—she is unique. But I daresay you’ve more than half fixed it up between you before this.”
“I wish we had,” was the answer. And then at a signal from the armed group that watched them, they returned to the hut.
But they found it already tenanted. A man was seated there warming himself by a fire to which he had just applied a light, and the gleam of the darting flames was reflected from his head-ring. Then indeed was astonishment depicted on the faces of both—especially on that of Thornhill—as they recognised the features of Manamandhla.
The Zulu returned their greeting, and sat silent for a few minutes. So did they. Blank amazement was in the mind of one, but the other—hoped. And he had the least reason to hope anything from the man before him, but he remembered that this man’s voice had been raised powerfully for their protection that very day, wherefore he hoped—on his companion’s behalf if not on his own. Then Manamandhla spoke.