"Mr. Meyer says that I am no mesmerist, love," said her father, "and I
can quite believe him. But for all that it is a weary job. I am as tired
as I was after our escape from the Matabele."
She laughed and answered:
"To judge by results I agree with you. The occult is not in your line,
father. You had better give it up."
"Did you, then, feel nothing?" asked Meyer.
"Nothing at all," she answered, looking him in the eyes. "No, that's
wrong, I felt extremely bored and sorry to see my father making
himself ridiculous. Grey hairs and nonsense of that sort don't go well
together."
"No," he answered. "I agree with you--not of that sort," and the subject
dropped.
For the next few days, to her intense relief, Benita heard no more
of mesmerism. To begin with, there was something else to occupy their
minds. The Matabele, tired of marching round the fortress and singing
endless war-songs, had determined upon an assault. From their point of
vantage on the topmost wall the three could watch the preparations which
they made. Trees were cut down and brought in from a great distance that
rude ladders might be fashioned out of them; also spies wandered round
reconnoitring for a weak place in the defences. When they came too near
the Makalanga fired on them, killing some, so that they retreated to
the camp, which they had made in a fold of ground at a little distance.
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