“Thank you, but I prefer the savages, as you seem to have done until now. No, do not try to touch me; you know that I can defend myself if I choose,” and she glanced at the pistol which she always carried in that wild land, “I am not afraid of you, Mr. Ishmael; it is you who are afraid of me.”
“Perhaps I am,” he exclaimed, “because those Zulus are right, you are tagati, an enchantress, not like other women, white or black. If it were not so, would you have driven me mad as you have done? I tell you I can’t sleep for thinking of you. Oh! Rachel, Rachel, don’t be angry with me. Have pity on me. Give me some hope. I know that my life has been rough in the past, but I will become good again for your sake and live like a Christian. But if you refuse me, if you send me back to hell—then you shall learn what I can be.”
“I know what you are, Mr. Ishmael, and that is quite enough. I do not wish to be unkind, or to say anything that will pain you, but please go away, and never try to speak to me again like this, as it is quite useless. You must understand that I will never marry you, never.”
“Are you in love with somebody else?” he asked hoarsely, and at the question, do what she would to prevent it, Rachel coloured a little.
“How can I be in love here, unless it were with a dream?”
“A dream, a dream of a man you mean. Well, don’t let him cross my path, or it will soon be the dream of a ghost. I tell you I’d kill him. If I can’t have you, no one else shall. Do you understand?”
“I understand that I am tired of this. Let me go home, please.”
“Home! Soon you will have no home to go to except mine—that is, if you don’t change your mind about me. I have power here—don’t you understand? I have power.”
As he spoke these words the man looked so evil that Rachel shivered a little. But she answered boldly enough:
“I understand that you have no power at all against me; no one has. It is I who have the power.”