Kitty was just starting with the woman when an idea struck her.
"Wait one moment, only one moment," she said.
Before the woman could reply she rushed away from her. She ran wildly back to the hotel; she dashed up to her own room. There she opened a drawer, took certain things from it, folded them in a bit of paper, and came back again to the woman. She was panting and out of breath, but there was a new light in her eyes, and she did not look anything like so weak as she had done an hour ago, when she lay feeble and exhausted on her bed.
"You are a plucky one," said the woman.
That any one should call Kitty that caused her to smile very faintly, but it also sent a certain stimulus round her heart.
"I plucky! that is all you know," she said.
Then the woman gave the girl her hand. She herself had been an inhabitant of Ladysmith for years. She was an Englishwoman, and she wanted to see the old country again before she died. She was the mother of stalwart boys, and the wife of a good, sensible, matter-of-fact tradesman. She had no daughters, and this girl, slim and small and pretty, appealed to her.
"I will look after you, you poor little thing," she said. "Whether you were plucky or not in the past, you are plucky now. Come; you will be safe in the caves with me and my family."