For a little while Benita was silent also; hope died within her. But
she was a bold-spirited woman, and by degrees her courage re-asserted
itself. Indignation filled her breast and shone through her dark eyes.
Suddenly she turned upon Jacob, who sat before them smoking his pipe and
enjoying their discomfiture.
"How dare you?" she asked in a low, concentrated voice. "How dare you,
you coward?"
He shrank a little beneath her scorn and anger; then seemed to recover
and brace himself, as one does who feels that a great struggle is at
hand, upon the issue of which everything depends.
"Do not be angry with me," he answered. "I cannot bear it. It hurts--ah!
you don't know how it hurts. Well, I will tell you, and before your
father, for that is more honourable. I dare--for your sake."
"For my sake? How can it benefit me to be cooped up in this horrible
place with you? I would rather trust myself with the Makalanga, or
even," she added with bitter scorn, "even with those bloody-minded
Matabele."
"You ran away from them very fast a little while ago, Miss Clifford. But
you do not understand me. When I said for your sake, I meant for my
own. See, now. You tried to leave me the other day and did not succeed.
Another time you might succeed, and then--what would happen to me?"
"I do not know, Mr.
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