te a
hearty meal of biscuits soaked in coffee. Although her father was so
sure that by now he must have perished on the Matabele spears, the sight
of the white man and his waggon had put new life into her, bringing her
into touch with the world again. After all, might it not chance that he
had escaped?

All this while there had been no sign of Jacob Meyer. This, however, did
not surprise them, for now he ate his meals alone, taking his food from
a little general store, and cooking it over his own fire. When they had
finished their breakfast Mr. Clifford remarked that they had no more
drinking water left, and Benita said that she would go to fetch a
pailful from the well in the cave. Her father suggested that he should
accompany her, but she answered that it was not necessary as she was
quite able to wind the chain by herself. So she went, carrying the
bucket in one hand and a lamp in the other.

As she walked down the last of the zigzags leading to the cave, Benita
stopped a moment thinking that she saw a light, and then went on,
since on turning the corner there was nothing but darkness before her.
Evidently she had been mistaken. She reached the well and hung the pail
on to the great copper hook, wondering as she did so how many folk had
done likewise in the far, far past, for the massive metal of that hook
was worn quite thin with use. Then she let the roller run, and the sound
of the travelling chain clanked dismally in that vaulted, empty place.
At length the pail struck the water, and she began to wind up again,
pausing at times to rest, for the distance was long and the chain heavy.
The bucket appeared. Benita drew it to the side of the well, and lifted
it from the hook, then took up her lamp to be gone.

Feeling or seeing something, which she was not sure, she held the lamp
above her head, and by its light perceived a figure standing between her
and the entrance to the cave.

"Who are you?" she asked, whereon a soft voice answered out of the
darkness, the voice of Jacob Meyer.

"Do you mind standing still for a few minutes, Miss Clifford? I have
some paper here and I wish to make a sketch. You do not know how
beautiful you look with that light above your head illuminating the
shadows and the thorn-crowned crucifix beyond. You know, whatever paths
fortune may have led me into, by nature I am an artist, and never in my
life have I seen such a picture. One day it will make me famous.

'How statue-like I