different from other women, both in body and heart. So
having quarrelled with them on this and another matter of policy I set
out to seek my fortune and left them to theirs."

"Your fortune was not a good one, Sihamba, for it led you to Swart Piet
and the rope."

"Nay, lady, it led me to the Swallow and freedom; no, not to freedom but
to slavery, for I am your slave, whose life you have bought at a great
price. Now I have nothing left in the world; Swart Piet has taken my
cattle which I earned cow by cow and bred up heifer by heifer, and save
for the wit within my brain and this kaross upon my shoulders, I have
nothing."

"What, then, will you do, Sihamba?"

"What you do, Swallow, that I shall do, for am I not your slave bought
at a great price? I will go home with you and serve you, yes, to my
life's end."

"That would please me well enough, Sihamba, but I do not know how it
would please my father."

"What pleases you pleases him, Swallow; moreover, I can save my food
twice over by curing his cattle and horses in sickness, for in such
needs I have skill."

"Well," she said, "come, and when my father returns we will settle how
it shall be."

CHAPTER X

THE OATH OF SIHAMBA

Suzanne came home and told me her story, and when I heard it I was like
a mad woman; indeed, it would have gone ill with Swart Piet's eyes and
hair if I could have fallen in with him that night.

"Wait till your father returns, girl," I said.

"Yes, mother," she answered, "I wait for him--and Ralph."

"What is to be done with the little doctoress, Sihamba?" I asked,
adding, "I do not like such people about the place."

"Let her bide also till the men come back, mother," she answered, "and
then they will see to it. Meanwhile there is an empty hut down by the
cattle kraal where she can live."

So Sihamba stopped on and became a body servant to Suzanne, the best I
ever saw, though she would do no other work save that of attending to
sick animals.

Ten days afterwards Jan and Ralph returned safe and sound, leaving some
Kaffirs in charge of the cattle in the bush-veldt. Very glad we were to
see them, since, putting everything else aside, it was lonely work for
two women upon the place with no neighbour at hand, and in those days to
be lonely meant to be in danger.

When we were together Jan's first question to me was:

"Have those Englishmen been here?"

"They have been here," I answered, "and they have gone away."

Jan ask