A few moments later the woman and the girl had found shelter in one of the caves by the river-side. These caves had been excavated in order to afford bomb-proof shelter during the great siege. The woman had a little part of one of the caves portioned off for herself and her family. It was fairly comfortable; there was even a little furniture here. Kitty was offered the best chair the place afforded. They could hear the firing; but no shells burst anywhere near them. There was very little to eat; but Kitty was not hungry. The one thing which absorbed all her faculties and all her powers was how she was to get to Intombi. She, a poor, defenceless little girl, could not run the gauntlet of the enemy's firing. But she had an idea which might possibly be successful, and which she dared not tell to any one.
Presently the daylight passed, and the night came on. As usual, the firing ceased, and the cave dwellers prepared to return to their homes. The woman who had befriended Kitty packed up her things with right good will.
"You are our guest now, so you will come home with us to-night," she said to Kitty.
But the girl did not move.
"I am going to stay here," she said; "I am not going back. I want to stay here, please."
"Oh, that is nonsense," said the woman. "You cannot stay alone in these awful, lonesome caves. There will be no one with you. You can't do it, my dear. A pretty young thing like you! it's impossible."
"You may go or not, just as you like," said Kitty, "but I am going to stay."
The woman's husband, a man of the name of Burke, now came up and expostulated with the girl.
"We're right glad to give you shelter, miss," he said, "if only you can prove yourself an Englishwoman; but to stay here all night—it can't be done, miss. Come, march!"
He went up roughly to the girl, and raised her to her feet. But Kitty could be obstinate.