Remembering her wet and dishevelled hair, Rachel threw
the towel over it, whence it hung like an old Egyptian head-dress, setting
her beautiful face in a most becoming frame. Next she picked up the
double-barrelled gun and cocked it, for she misdoubted her of this man's
intentions. Not many modern books came her way, but she had read stories
of young women who were carried off by force.
For an instance she was frightened, but as she lifted the hammer of the
second barrel her constitutional courage returned.
"Let him try it," she thought to herself. "If he had come ten minutes ago
it would have been awful, but now I don't care."
By this time Mr. Ishmael had arrived, and was dragging his horse to its
haunches; also she saw that evidently he was much more frightened than she
had been. The man's handsome face was quite white, and his lips were
trembling. "Perhaps that rhinoceros is after him again, thought Rachel,
then added aloud quietly:
"What is the matter?"
"Forgive me," he answered in a rich, and to Rachel's astonishment,
perfectly educated voice, "forgive me for disturbing you. I am ashamed,
but it is necessary. The Zulus--" and he paused.
"Well, sir," asked Rachel, "what about the Zulus?"
"A regiment of them are coming down here on the warpath.
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