“Shot the man! Shed human blood! Hid in a pool!” ejaculated Mr. Dove, overcome. “Really, Rachel, you are a most trying daughter. Why should you go out before daybreak and do such things?”
“I don’t know, I am sure, father; predestination, I suppose—to save her life, you know.”
Again he contemplated the beautiful Noie, then, murmuring something about a blanket, ran back to the camp. By this time Mrs. Dove had climbed out of the waggon, and arrived with the Kaffirs.
“I knew you would be safe, Rachel,” she said in her gentle voice, “because nothing can hurt you. Still you do upset your poor father dreadfully, and—what are you going to do with that naked young woman?”
“Give her something to eat, dear,” answered Rachel. “Don’t ask me any more questions now. We have been sitting up to our necks in water for hours, and are starved and frozen, to say nothing of worse things.”
At this moment Mr. Dove arrived with a blanket, which he offered to Noie, who took it from him and threw it round her body. Then they went into the camp, where Rachel changed her damp clothes, whilst Noie sat by her in a corner of the tent. Presently, too, food was brought, and Rachel ate hungrily, forcing Noie to do the same. Then she went out, leaving the girl to rest in the tent, and with certain omissions, such as the conduct of Noie when she found her dead father, told all the story which, wild as were the times and strange as were the things that happened in them, they found wonderful enough.
When she had done Mr. Dove knelt down and offered up thanks for his daughter’s preservation through great danger, and with them prayers that she might be forgiven for having shot the Zulu, a deed that, except for the physical horror of it, did not weigh upon Rachel’s mind.
“You know, father, you would have done the same yourself,” she explained, “and so would mother there, if she could hold a gun, so what is the good of pretending that it is a sin? Also no one saw it except that white man and the crocodiles which buried the body, so the less we say about the matter the better it will be for all of us.”
“I admit,” answered Mr. Dove, “that the circumstances justified the deed, though I fear that the truth will out, since blood calls for blood. But what are we to do with the girl? They will come to seek her and kill us all.”
“They will not seek, father, because they think that she is dead, and will never know otherwise unless that white man tells them, which he will scarcely do, as the Zulus would think that he shot the soldier, not I. She has been sent to us, and it is our duty to keep her.”