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Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider), 1856-1925

"Benita, an African romance"

In his
state all the wealth beneath the soil of Africa would not have appealed
to him. Moreover, he hated the name of that accursed treasure, which was
bringing them to such a miserable end.
"Where does the passage run? Have you looked?" he asked.
"Not yet, but the voice in me said--I mean, I dreamed--that it goes down
to the river-side. If you leant on me do you think that you could walk?"
"Not one inch," he answered. "Here where I am I shall die."
"No, no, don't talk like that. We may be saved now that I have found
a way. Oh, if only you could--if only you could walk, or if I had the
strength to carry you!" and she wrung her hands and began to weep, so
weak was she.
Her father looked at her searchingly. Then he said:
"Well, love, I cannot, so there's an end. But you can, and you had
better go."
"What! And leave you? Never."
"Yes, and leave me. Look, there is but a little oil left and only a
few candles. The biscuits are done and neither of us can swallow
that biltong any more. I suppose that I am dying, and your health and
strength are failing you quickly in this darkness; if you stop here
you must soon follow me. And what is the alternative? The madman
outside--that is, if you could find strength to pull down the wall,
which I doubt.


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