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

"Benita, an African romance"


"Be quick," she whispered to Robert, for in that place it seemed natural
to speak low. "My father is above and near his death. I am dreadfully
afraid lest we should be too late."
So they toiled up the endless steps, a very strange procession, for the
two Zulus, bold men enough outside, were shaking with fright, till at
length Benita clambered out of the trap door on to the floor of the
treasure chamber, and turned to help Robert, whose lameness made him
somewhat slow and awkward.
"What's all that?" he asked, pointing to the hide sacks, while they
waited for the two scared Kaffirs to join them.
"Oh!" she answered indifferently, "gold, I believe. Look, there is some
of it on the floor, over Benita da Ferreira's footsteps."
"Gold! Why, it must be worth----! And who on earth is Benita da
Ferreira?"
"I will tell you afterwards. She has been dead two or three hundred
years; it was her gold, or her people's, and those are her footprints in
the dust. How stupid you are not to understand! Never mind the hateful
stuff; come on quickly."
So they passed the door which she had opened that morning, and clambered
up the remaining stairway. So full was Benita of terrors that she
could never remember how she climbed them. Suppose that the foot of the
crucifix had swung to; suppose that her father were dead; suppose that
Jacob Meyer had broken into the cave? Well for herself she was no longer
afraid of Jacob Meyer.


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