“I suppose so,” said her father doubtfully. “Poor thing! Truly she has cause for gratitude to Providence: all her relations killed by those bloodthirsty savages, and she saved!”
“If all of you were killed and I were saved, I do not know that I should feel particularly grateful,” answered Rachel. “But it is no use arguing about such things, so let us be thankful that we are not killed too. Now I am tired out, and going to lie down, for of course we can’t leave this place at present, unless we trek back to Durban.”
Such was the finding of Noie.
When Rachel awoke from the sleep into which she had fallen, sunset was near at hand. She left the tent where Noie still lay slumbering or lost in stupor, to find that only her mother and Ishmael’s after-rider remained in the camp, her father having gone out with the Kaffirs, in order to bury as many of the dead as possible before night came, and with it the jackals and hyenas. Rachel made up the fire and set to work with her mother’s help to cook their evening meal. Whilst they were thus engaged her quick ears caught the sound of horses’ hoofs, and she looked up to perceive the white man, Ishmael, still leading the spare horse on which she had ridden that morning. He had halted on the crest of ground where she had first seen him upon the previous day, and was peering at the camp, with the object apparently of ascertaining whether its occupants were still alive.
“I will go and ask him in,” said Rachel, who, for reasons of her own, wished to have a word or two with the man.
Presently she came up to him, and saw at once that he seemed to be very much ashamed of himself.
“Well,” she said cheerfully, “you see here I am, safe enough, and I am glad that you are the same.”
“You are a wonderful woman,” he replied, letting his eyes sink before her clear gaze, “as wonderful as you are beautiful.”
“No compliments, please,” said Rachel, “they are out of place in this savage land.”
“I beg your pardon, I could not help speaking the truth. Did they kill the girl and let you go?”