which I followed with a beating heart.  Presently the passage opened into a small cave, shaped like a pickle bottle, and coming to a neck at the top end.  We passed through and found ourselves in a second, much larger cave, that I at once recognized as the one of which Indaba-zimbi had shown me a vision in the water.  Light reached it from above—­how I know not—­and by it I could see a form half-sitting, half lying on some skins at the top end of the cave.  I rushed to it.  It was Stella!  Stella bound with strips of hide, bruised, torn, but still Stella, and alive.

She saw me, she gave one cry, then, as I caught her in my arms, she fainted.  It was happy indeed that she did not faint before, for had it not been for the sound of her voice I do not believe we should ever have found that cunningly hidden cave, unless, indeed, Indaba-zimbi’s magic (on which be blessings) had come to our assistance.

We bore her to the open air, laid her beneath the shade of a tree, and cut the bonds loose from her ankles.  As we went I glanced at the cave.  It was exactly as I had seen it in the vision.  There burnt the fire, there were the rude wooden vessels, one of them still half full of the water which I had seen the baboon bring.  I felt awed as I looked, and marvelled at the power wielded by a savage who could not even read and write.

Now I could see Stella clearly.  Her face was scratched, and haggard with fear and weeping, her clothes were almost torn off her, and her beautiful hair was loose and tangled.  I sent for water, and we sprinkled her face.  Then I forced a little of the brandy which we distilled from peaches at the kraals between her lips, and she opened her eyes, and throwing her arms about me clung to me as little Tota had done, sobbing, “Thank God! thank God!”

After a while she grew quieter, and I made her and Tota eat some food from the store that we had brought with us.  I too ate and was thankful, for with the exception of the mealie cobs I had tasted nothing for nearly four-and-twenty hours.  Then she washed her face and hands, and tidied her rags of dress as well as she was able.  As she did so by degrees I drew her story from her.

It seemed that on the previous afternoon, being wearied with packing, she went out to visit her father’s grave, taking Tota with her, and was followed there by the two dogs.  She wished to lay some flowers on the grave and take farewell of the dust it covered, for as we had expected to trek early on the morrow she did not know if she would find a later opportunity.  They passed up the garden, and gathering some flowers from the orange trees and elsewhere, went on to the little graveyard.  Here she laid them on the grave as we had found them, and then sitting down, fell into a deep and sad reverie, such as the occasion would naturally induce.  While she sat thus, Tota, who was a lively child and active as a kitten, strayed away without Stella observing it.  With her went