Well, after many dangers, footsore and worn-out with travelling, at length he reached the stead, to find that we had all gone, none knew whither, and that the long-nosed cheat to whom we had sold the farm ruled in our place.  Zinti sought out some Kaffirs who lived upon the land, and abode with them awhile till he was rested and strong again.  Then once more he turned his face northward towards the mountain Umpondwana, for though he greatly feared the journey, he knew that the heart of Suzanne would be sick for news.  War raged in the country that he must pass, and food was scarce; still at length he won through, although at the last he was nearly captured by Black Piet’s thieves, and one year and nine months after he had left it, a worn and weary figure, he limped up the red rock path of Umpondwana.

Suzanne had been watching for him.  It seems strange to say it, but after six months had gone by, which time at the best must be given to his journey, she watched for him every day.  On the top of the highest and most precipitous cliff of the mountain fortress of Umpondwana was a little knoll of rock curiously hollowed out to the shape of a chair, difficult to gain and dizzy to sit in, for beneath it was a sheer fall of five hundred feet, which chair-rock commanded the plain southward, and the pass where Van Vooren had spoken to Suzanne from his hiding-place among the stones.  By this pass and across this plain help must reach her if it came at all, or so she thought; therefore in that eagle’s eyrie of a seat Suzanne sat day by day watching ever for those who did not come.  A strange sight she must have been, for now long ago such garments as she had were worn to rags, so that she was forced to clothe herself in beautiful skins fashioned to her fancy, and to go sandal-footed, her lovely rippling hair hanging about her.

At length one day from her lonely point of outlook she saw a solitary man limping across the plain, a mere black speck dragging itself forward like a wounded fly upon a wall.  Descending from her seat she sought out Sihamba.

“Swallow,” said the little woman, “there is tidings in your eyes.  What is it?”

“Zinti returns,” she answered, “I have seen him from far away.”

Now Sihamba smiled, for she thought Zinti lost; also she did not believe it possible that Sihamba could have recognized him from such a distance.  Still before two hours were over Zinti came, gaunt and footsore, but healthy and unharmed, and sitting down before Suzanne in her private enclosure, began at the very beginning of his long story, after the native fashion, telling of those things which had befallen him upon the day when he left the mountain nearly two years before.

“Your news?  Your news?” said Suzanne.

“Lady, I am telling it,” he answered.

“Fool!” exclaimed Sihamba.  “Say now, did you find the Baas Kenzie and the Baas Botmar?”

“No, indeed,” he replied, “for they were gone.”