“And the fire last night, Zenuta?” I asked anxiously.
“It nearly caught me,” she answered, laughing gleefully, “but I ran—I ran till I could escape it. Then I went on: I could not sleep, for I could find no trace of the path you had taken. It made me mad. I ran on and on—I felt no fatigue—I had no fear—when suddenly a cry, a shout of terror, reached me. It was your voice, Galbrth. I rushed forward: I saw the leopard just rising into the air. I saw your danger. The next moment, with a leap, I had flung my arms tightly about the creature, and we both together fell struggling to the ground, when, feeling one of your assagais touch my hand, I seized it, and plunged it again and again into the leopard’s body, till I felt his claws relax on my arms, when I knew he was dead and I was safe.”
“What!” I cried, in much concern, “did the frightful animal harm you, my noble Zenuta?”
“A little,” she replied, smiling, as she turned to me her arm, on the back of which I perceived the flesh to be torn and bleeding.
“My poor, my brave girl!” I exclaimed tremulously.
“It is nothing—I like it,” she laughed softly, “because did I not save you, my Galbrth?”
I pressed her hand affectionately in mine, and, before anything else was said or done, persisted that her shoulder should be attended to. Then, being consumed with a terrible thirst, I asked Umatula whether he had prophesied rightly respecting water being near.
“Yes,” he replied with an amused smile, “there is plenty at a little distance off, as I should have known,” he added, “had your accident occurred before we started, for the plant which held you prisoner always grows near water.”
“If that be so,” I exclaimed, getting up, “for heaven’s sake let us go there, for I am perishing of thirst! Let us get to this stream which you have discovered.”