eed, the Vrouw Prinsloo thrust herself between
us, crying:

"Be silent, you, Marais, and you too, Allan. Is this a time that you
should quarrel and upset yourself, Allan, so that when the trial comes
you will shoot your worst and not your best? And is this a time, Henri
Marais, that you should throw insults at one on whom all our lives hang,
instead of praying for God's vengeance upon your accursed nephew? Come,
Allan, and take food. I have fried the liver of that heifer which the
king sent us; it is ready and very good. After you have eaten it you
must lie down and sleep a while."

Now among the household of the Reverend Mr. Owen was an English boy
called William Wood, who was not more than twelve or fourteen years of
age. This lad knew both Dutch and Zulu, and acted as interpreter to the
Owen family during the absence on a journey of a certain Mr. Hulley, who
really filled that office. While this conversation was taking place in
Dutch he was engaged in rendering every word of it into English for the
benefit of the clergyman and his family. When Mr. Owen understood the
full terror of the situation, he broke in saying:

"This is not a time to eat or to sleep, but a time to pray that the
heart of the savage Dingaan may be turned. Come, let us pray!"

"Yes," rejoined Vrouw Prinsloo, when William Wood had translated. "Do
you pray, predicant, and all the rest of you who have nothing else
to do, and while you are about it pray also that the bullets of Allan
Quatermain may not be turned. As for me and Allan, we have other things
to see to, so you must pray a little harder to cover us as well as
yourselves. Now you come along, nephew Allan, or that liver may be
overdone and give you indigestion, which is worse for shooting than even
bad temper. No, not another word. If you try to speak any more, Henri
Marais, I will box your ears," and she lifted a hand like a leg of
mutton, then, as Marais retreated before her, seized me by the collar as
though I were a naughty boy and led me away to the wagons.

CHAPTER XIII. THE REHEARSAL

By the women's wagon we found the liver cooked in its frying-pan, as
the vrouw had said. Indeed, it was just done to a turn. Selecting a
particularly massive slice, she proceeded to take it from the pan with
her fingers in order to set it upon a piece of tin, from which she
had first removed the more evident traces of the morning meal with her
constant companion, the ancient and unwashen vatdo