Accordingly they sat in silence. In silence they sat facing each other and their own thoughts. Presently Jantje broke it by drawing the big white-handled knife and commencing to sharpen it on a piece of leather.
The sight made Jess feel sick. “Put the knife up,” she said quickly, “it is sharp enough.”
Jantje obeyed with a feeble grin, and the minutes passed on heavily.
“Now, Jantje,” she said at last, speaking huskily in her struggle to overcome the spasmodic contractions of her throat, “it is time for you to go.”
The Hottentot fidgeted about, and at last spoke.
“Missie must come with me!”
“Come with you!” answered Jess starting, “why?”
“Because the ghost of the old Englishwoman will be after me if I go alone.”
“You fool!” said Jess angrily; then recollecting herself she added, “Come, be a man, Jantje; think of your father and mother, and be a man.”
“I am a man,” he answered sulkily, “and I will kill him like a man, but what good is a man against the ghost of a dead Englishwoman? If I put the knife into her she would only make faces, and fire would come out of the hole. I will not go without you, missie.”