She was alone in
this secret place with the murderer of her father and her mother, who
sought her love. Yet, strangely enough, her heart was filled not with
tears, but with contempt and icy anger. She did not shrink away from him
as he came towards her in his gaudy clothes, with an assumed air of
insolent confidence, but sat pale and proud, as she had sat at
Umgugundhlovu, when the Zulus brought their causes before her for
judgment.
He advanced into the shadow of the tree, took off his hat with a flourish
and bowed. Then as she made no answer to these salutations, but only
searched him with her grey eyes, he began to speak in jerky sentences.
"I hope you have slept well, Rachel; I am, glad to see you looking so
fresh. I was afraid that you would be over-tired after your long day. You
rode many miles. Of course what you found at Ramah must have been a great
shock to you. I want to explain to you quietly that I am not in the least
to blame about that terrible business. It was those accursed Zulus who
exceeded their orders."
So he went on, pausing between each remark for an answer, but no answer
came. At length he stopped, confused, and Rachel, lifting the assegai,
examined its blade, and asked him suddenly:
"Whose blood is on this spear? Yours?"
"A little of it, perhaps," he answered.
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