t
with only the sky for background, she must be perfectly visible from
the plain below, and that it might be her figure perched like an eagle
between heaven and earth which excited their interest. Yes, and not
theirs only, for now a white man appeared, who lifted what might have
been a gun, or a telescope, towards her. She was sure from the red
flannel shirt and the broad hat which he wore that he must be a white
man, and oh! how her heart yearned towards him, whoever he might be! The
sight of an angel from heaven could scarcely have been more welcome to
Benita in her wretchedness.

Yet surely she must be dreaming. What should a white man and a waggon
be doing in that place? And why had not the Matabele killed him at once?
She could not tell, yet they appeared to have no murderous intentions,
since they continued to gesticulate and talk whilst he stared upwards
with the telescope, if it were a telescope. So things went on for a
long time, for meanwhile the oxen were outspanned, until, indeed, more
Matabele arrived, who led off the white man, apparently against his
will, towards their camp, where he disappeared. Then there was nothing
more to be seen. Benita descended the column.

At its foot she met her father, who had come to seek her.

"What is the matter?" he asked, noting her excited face.

"Oh!" she said or rather sobbed, "there is a waggon with a white man
below. I saw the Matabele capture him."

"Then I am sorry for the poor devil," answered the father, "for he
is dead by now. But what could a white man have been doing here? Some
hunter, I suppose, who has walked into a trap."

The face of Benita fell.

"I hoped," she said, "that he might help us."

"As well might he hope that we could help him. He is gone, and there is
an end. Well, peace to his soul, and we have our own troubles to think
of. I have been to look at that wall, and it is useless to think of
climbing it. If he had been a professional mason, Meyer could not have
built it up better; no wonder that we have seen nothing more of the
Molimo, for only a bird could reach us."

"Where was Mr. Meyer," asked Benita.

"Asleep in a blanket under a little shelter of boughs by the stair. At
least, I thought so, though it was rather difficult to make him out in
the shadow; at any rate, I saw his rifle set against a tree. Come, let
us go to breakfast. No doubt he will turn up soon enough."

So they went, and for the first time since the Sunday Benita a