The morning was delightful as only an early morning can be when listless Spring coquettes with impatient Summer under a cloudless, calm, and southern sky; so Mr du Plessis and his daughters decided to spend some of the time which must elapse before breakfast would be ready in strolling over the flower-strewn mountain slope. The lovely bay lay like a white-fringed purple robe cast down to earth from the couch of some regal goddess; in the deep, deep hollows of the Drakenstein the shattered remnants of the host of conquered night were cowering; overhead the scarred crags of Table Mountain lent, by force of contrast, a splendid foil to the softness of the rest of the landscape.
They had left the footpath and were wandering among the dew-bejewelled bushes. Suddenly, with one accord they all stood still; before them lay what appeared to be the dead body of a young girl, fallen upon its face.
Mr du Plessis stepped forward and bent over the pallid form. He ascertained that it still contained life, and he signed to the two girls to approach.
They turned the unconscious frame over upon its back and placed the slack limbs in an easy position. The face was untouched, but the poor hands had been sorely torn by thorns. The lips were almost bloodless and the whole form as cold as the earth it lay on. The hair, sadly tangled, glowed in the sunshine like live gold.
“The blind girl we saw with the Bushman,” said Helena, in an awed whisper.
“Yes,” said Mr du Plessis,—“there has been some foul play here. You girls rub her body as hard as you can and loosen her dress at the throat; I will run and send Ranzo and one of the boys with a basket-chair.”
It was not long before the chair arrived, carried by two strong slaves. Elsie was tenderly lifted from the cold earth and carried down to the cottage, where she was soon laid upon a soft, warm bed. Her damp clothes were removed and warm wraps substituted. The doctor had been sent for at once, but in the meantime Mrs du Plessis poured a hot cordial down her throat. This soon caused a glow of warmth to spread over the almost pulseless body.
Soon the doctor arrived and ordered that the patient should be laid in a warm bath. This caused her to revive considerably. When her eyes opened it seemed as if they were filled with the pain of the whole world. After swallowing a little nourishment she fell into a swoon-like sleep, which lasted all day and into the middle of the night.
When Elsie awoke it was to delirium of the most painful kind. Ever and anon she would shriek with terror and try to spring from the bed. This lasted for several days, until the doctor feared brain-fever. However, she once more fell asleep, and lay for days like a faintly-breathing statue. She was wakened now and then and given nourishment, which she mechanically swallowed,—immediately afterwards sank back to deepest sleep.
The strange story of the finding of the blind girl with the wonderful hair had in the meantime spread abroad, and the circumstance aroused general interest. Many now recalled having seen the strange pair wandering up and down the streets upon their hopeless quest, and regretted, too late, that they had not rendered assistance. Public feeling,—that mad perverter of probabilities,—was very much aroused against Kanu, and had that unhappy Bushman been caught it would have gone hard with him. However, Kanu, with his savage equivalent for the emotion of grief, was straining every nerve to get as far away from civilisation as possible, bent on hiding his suspected head in the depths of the uttermost desert.