Benita was able to bear no more. She
rushed down the winding passage, and presently, just beyond its mouth,
in a blurred and indistinct fashion saw that the two white men were
rolling together on the ground, while the Kaffirs sprang round watching
for an opportunity to seize one of them. At that moment they succeeded,
and Robert rose, dusting his hands and knees.
"Amiable gentleman, Mr. Jacob Meyer," he repeated. "I could have killed
him as his back was towards me, but didn't because you asked me not.
Then I stumbled with my lame leg, and he whipped round and let drive
with his rifle. Look," and he showed her where the bullet had cut his
ear. "Luckily I got hold of him before he could loose off another."
Benita could find no words, her heart was too full of thankfulness. Only
she seized Robert's hand and kissed it. Then she looked at Jacob.
He was lying upon the broad of his back, the two big Zulus holding his
arms and legs; his lips were cracked, blue and swollen; his face was
almost black, but his eyes still shone bright with insanity and hate.
"I know you," he screamed hoarsely to Robert. "You are another ghost,
the ghost of that man who was drowned. Otherwise my bullet would have
killed you."
"Yes, Mr. Meyer," Seymour answered, "I am a ghost.
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