Then, seeing and hearing
nothing, she climbed to the voorkissie and kneeling on it, separated
the tent flaps and peered into the waggon. Still she could see nothing
because of the mist, yet she heard something, a man breathing in his
sleep. Somehow she thought that it was a white man; a Kaffir did not
breathe like that. She did not know what to do, so remained kneeling
there. It seemed as though the man who was asleep began to feel her
presence, for he muttered to himself--surely the words were English!
Then quite suddenly he struck a match and lit a candle which stood in
a beer bottle by his side. She could not see his face while he lit the
match, for his arm hid it, and the candle burned up slowly. Then the
first thing she saw was the barrel of a revolver pointing straight at
her.
"Now, my black friend," said a pleasant voice, "down you go or I shoot.
One, two! Oh, my God!"
The candle burned up, its light fell upon the white, elfish face of
Benita, whose long dark hair streamed about her; it shone in her great
eyes. Still she could see nothing, for it dazzled her.
"Oh, my God!" said the voice again. "Benita! Benita! Have you come to
tell me that I must join you? Well, I am ready, my sweet, my sweet! Now
I shall hear your answer."
"Yes," she whispered, and crawling forward down the cartel Benita fell
upon his breast.
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