ita had built with desperate
hands, there was the altar of sacrifice standing cold and grey as it had
stood for perhaps three thousand years. There was the tomb of the old
monk who had a companion now, for in it Jacob Meyer lay with him, his
bones covered by the _debris_ that he himself had dug out in his mad
search for wealth; and there the white Christ hung awful on His cross.
Only the skeletons of the Portuguese were gone, for with the help of his
Kaffirs Robert had moved them every one into the empty treasure-chamber,
closing the trap beneath, and building up the door above, so that there
they might lie in peace at last.

In this melancholy place they tarried but a little while, then, turning
their backs upon it for ever, went out and climbed the granite cone to
watch the sun rise over the broad Zambesi. Up it came in glory, that
same sun which had shone upon the despairing Benita da Ferreira, and
upon the English Benita when she had stood there in utter hopelessness,
and seen the white man captured by the Matabele.

Now, different was their state indeed, and there in that high place,
whence perhaps many a wretched creature had been cast to death, whence
certainly the Portuguese maiden had sought her death, these two happy
beings were not ashamed to give thanks to Heaven for the joy which it
had vouchsafed to them, and for their hopes of life full and long to be
travelled hand in hand. Behind them was the terror of the cave, beneath
them were the mists of the valley, but above them the light shone and
rolled and sparkled, and above them stretched the eternal sky!

They descended the pillar, and near the foot of it saw an old man
sitting. It was Mambo, the Molimo of the Makalanga: even when they were
still far away from him they knew his snow-white head and thin, ascetic
face. As they drew near Benita perceived that his eyes were closed, and
whispered to Robert that he was asleep. Yet he had heard them coming,
and even guessed her thought.

"Maiden," he said in his gentle voice, "maiden who soon shall be a wife,
I do not sleep, although I dream of you as I have dreamt before. What
did I say to you that day when first we met? That for you I had good
tidings; that though death was all about you, you need not fear; that
in this place you who had known great sorrow should find happiness
and rest. Yet, maiden, you would not believe the words of the Munwali,
spoken by his prophet's lips, as he at your side, who shall be