“To take a ride,” answered Mr. Clifford.  “The lady, my daughter, is weary of being cooped up in this fortress, and wishes to breathe the air without.  Let us pass, friend, or we shall not be back by sunset.”

“If you be coming back at sunset, white man, why do you carry so many things upon your packs, and why are your saddle-bags filled with cartridges?” he asked.  “Surely you do not speak the truth to me, and you hope that never more will you see the sun set upon Bambatse.”

Now understanding that it was hopeless to deceive him, Benita exclaimed boldly: 

“It is so; but oh! my Father, stay us not, for fear is behind us, and therefore we fly hence.”

“And is there no fear before you, maiden?  Fear of the wilderness, where none wander save perchance the Amandabele with their bloody spears; fear of wild beasts and of sickness that may overtake you so that, first one and then the other, you perish there?”

“There is plenty, my Father, but none of them so bad as the fear behind.  Yonder place is haunted, and we give up our search and would dwell there no more.”

“It is haunted truly, maiden, but its spirits will not harm you whom they welcome as one appointed, and we are ever ready to protect you because of their command that has come to me in dreams.  Nor, indeed, is it the spirits whom you fear, but rather the white man, your companion, who would bend you to his will.  Deny it not, for I have seen it all.”

“Then knowing the truth, surely you will let us go,” she pleaded, “for I swear to you that I dare not stay.”

“Who am I that I should forbid you?” he asked.  “Yet I tell you that you would do well to stay and save yourselves much terror.  Maiden, have I not said it days and day ago, that here and here only you must accomplish your fate?  Go now if you will, but you shall return again,” and once more he seemed to begin to doze in the sun.

The two of them consulted hastily together.

“It is no use turning back now,” said Benita, who was almost weeping with doubt and vexation.  “I will not be frightened by his vague talk.  What can he know of the future more than any of the rest of us?  Besides, all he says is that we shall come back again, and if that does happen, at least we shall have been free for a little while.  Come, father.”

“As you wish,” answered Mr. Clifford, who seemed too miserable and depressed to argue.  Only he threw down the letter upon the Molimo’s lap, and begged him to give it to Meyer when he came to look for them.

The old man took no notice; no, not even when Benita bade him farewell and thanked him for his kindness, praying that all good fortune might attend him and his tribe, did he answer a single word or even look up.  So they led their horses down the narrow passage where there was scarcely room for them to pass, and up the steep path beyond.  On the further side of the ancient ditch they remounted them while the Makalanga watched them from the walls, and cantered away along the same road by which they had come.