Mr. Clifford, thinking of his stiff limbs and aching back, shook his head and answered: 

“I don’t know; Meyer has never let me near enough to see.”

“Well, why do you not go to look?  You know he sleeps till late now, because he is up all night.  Take the glasses and examine the top of the wall from inside that old house near by.  He will not see or hear you, but if I came near, he would know and wake up.”

“If you like, love, I can try, but what are you going to do while I am away?”

“I shall climb the pillar.”

“You don’t mean——­” and he stopped.

“No, no, nothing of that sort.  I shall not follow the example of Benita da Ferreira unless I am driven to it; I want to look, that is all.  One can see far from that place, if there is anything to see.  Perhaps the Matabele are gone now, we have heard nothing of them lately.”

So they dressed themselves, and as soon as the light was sufficiently strong, came out of the hut and parted, Mr. Clifford, rifle in hand, limping off towards the wall, and Benita going towards the great cone.  She climbed it easily enough, and stood in the little cup-like depression on its dizzy peak, waiting for the sun to rise and disperse the mists which hung over the river and its banks.

Now whatever may have been the exact ceremonial use to which the ancients put this pinnacle, without doubt it had something to do with sun-worship.  This, indeed, was proved by the fact that, at any rate at this season of the year, the first rays of the risen orb struck full upon its point.  Thus it came about that, as she stood there waiting, Benita of a sudden found herself suffused in light so vivid and intense that, clothed as she was in a dress which had once been white, it must have caused her to shine like a silver image.  For several minutes, indeed, this golden spear of fire blinded her so that she could see nothing, but stood quite still, afraid to move, and waiting until, as the sun grew higher, its level rays passed over her.  This they did presently, and plunging into the valley, began to drive away the fog.  Now she looked down, along the line of the river.

The Matabele camp was invisible, for it lay in a hollow almost at the foot of the fortress.  Beyond it, however, was a rising swell of ground; it may have been half a mile from where she stood, and on the crest of it she perceived what looked like a waggon tent with figures moving round it.  They were shouting also, for through the silence of the African morn the sound of their voices floated up to her.

As the mist cleared off Benita saw that without doubt it was a waggon, for there stood the long row of oxen, also it had just been captured by the Matabele, for these were about it in numbers.  At the moment, however, they appeared to be otherwise occupied, for they were pointing with their spears to the pillar on Bambatse.