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

"Benita, an African romance"

Now, you boys, here's
a bit of rope. Tie his hands behind his back and search him. There is a
pistol in that pocket."
They obeyed, and presently Meyer was disarmed and bound fast to a tree.
"Water," he moaned. "For days I have had nothing but the dew I could
lick off the leaves."
Pitying his plight, Benita ran into the cave and returned presently with
a tin of water. One of the Kaffirs held it to his lips, and he drank
greedily. Then, leaving one Zulu to watch him, Robert, Benita, and
the other Zulu went back, and as gently as they could carried out Mr.
Clifford on his mattress, placing him in the shade of a rock, where he
lay blessing them feebly, because they had brought him into the light
again. At the sight of the old man Meyer's rage blazed up afresh.
"Ah," he screamed, "if only I had killed you long ago, she would be mine
now, not that fellow's. It was you who stood between us."
"Look here, my friend," broke in Robert. "I forgive you everything else,
but, mad or sane, be good enough to keep Miss Clifford's name off your
lips, or I will hand you over to those Kaffirs to be dealt with as you
deserve."
Then Jacob understood, and was silent. They gave him more water and
food to eat, some of the meat that they had brought with them, which he
devoured ravenously.


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