Suzanne sat down and looked, and there, yes, there the caps of the waggons gleamed in the fading light; and oh! her heart leapt at the sight of them, for in those waggons were white men and women such as she had not seen for years, and with whom at length she would be safe.  But even as her breast heaved at the thought of it, an icy, unnatural wind seemed to stir her hair, and of a sudden she felt, or seemed to feel, the presence of Sihamba.  For a moment, and one only, it was with her, then it was gone, nor during all her life did it ever come back again.

“Oh!  Sihamba is dead!” she cried.

Zinti looked at her in question.

“It may well be so,” he said sadly, “but I pray that it is not so, for she is the best of chieftainesses.  At least we have our own lives to save, so let us go on,” and again they pressed forward through the gathering gloom.

Soon it grew dark, and had her guide been any other man than Zinti Suzanne must have stopped where she was till the moon rose at midnight.  But Zinti could find any path that his feet had trod even in the dark; yes, although it ran through piled-up rocks on the mountain side, and was cut with the course of streams which must be forded.

In wading through one of these rivulets, Suzanne struck her bare ankle against a stone and lamed herself, so that from this time forward, shivering and wet with water, for her hurt was so sharp and sudden that she had fallen in the stream, she was forced to walk leaning on Zinti’s shoulder, and indeed over some rough places he was obliged to carry her.  Now again Zinti wished to abandon that heavy child, for strong though he was the weight of the two of them proved almost more than he could bear, but Suzanne would not listen to him.

“Nay,” she said, “this child that was sent to me by Heaven has saved me from shame and death, and shame and death be my portion if I will leave it while I live.  Go on alone if you will, Zinti, and I will stay here with the child.”

“Truly white people are strange,” answered Zinti, “that they should wish to burden themselves with the child of another when their own lives are at stake, but be it as you will, lady,” and he struggled forward as best he could, carrying the one and supporting the other.

Thus for hour after hour, slowly they crept onward with only the stars to light and guide them, till at length about midnight the moon rose and they saw that they were near the foot of the mountain.  Now they rested awhile, but not long enough to grow stiff, then hastening down the slope they reached the plain, and headed for the white-topped koppie which shone in the moonlight some six miles away.  On they crept, Suzanne now limping painfully, for her ankle had begun to swell, and now crawling upon her hands and knees, for Zinti had no longer the strength to carry her and the child.  Thus they covered three miles in perhaps as many hours.  At last, with something like a sob, Suzanne sank to the earth.