Benita lifted her hand to find the pistol at her waist.  It fell back again; she had no strength; it was as though she were paralysed as a bird is paralysed by a snake so that it cannot open its wings and fly away, but sits there awaiting death.  She was given over into the hands of this man whom she hated.  Could Heaven allow such a thing? she wondered dimly, and all the while his lips drew nearer to her face.

They touched her own, and then, why or wherefore Benita never understood, the spell broke.  All his power was gone, she was as she had been, a free woman, mistress of herself.  Contemptuously she thrust the man aside, and, not even troubling to run, lifted her pail of water and walked away.

Soon she saw the light again, and joyfully extinguished her lamp.  Indeed, the breast of Benita, which should have been so troubled after the scene through which she had passed, strangely enough was filled with happiness and peace.  As that glorious sunlight had broken on her eyes, so had another light of freedom arisen in her soul.  She was no longer afraid of Jacob Meyer; that coward kiss of his had struck off the shackles which bound her to him.  Her mind had been subject to his mind, but now that his physical nature was brought into the play, his mental part had lost its hold upon her.

As she approached the hut she saw her father seated on a stone outside it, since the poor old man was now so weak and full of pain that he could not stand for very long, and seeing, remembered Meyer’s threats against him.  At the thought all her new-found happiness departed.

She might be safe; she felt sure that she was safe, but how about her father?  If Meyer could not get his way probably he would be as good as his word, and kill him.  She shivered at the thought, then, recovering herself, walked forward steadily with her bucket of water.

“You have been a long while gone, my love,” said Mr. Clifford.

“Yes, father, Mr. Meyer was in the cave, and kept me.”

“How did he get there, and what did he want?”

“I don’t know how he got there—­crept in when we were not looking, I suppose.  But as for what he wanted—­listen, dear,” and word for word she told him what had passed.

Before she had finished, her father was almost choking with wrath.

“The dirty Jew!  The villain!” he gasped.  “I never dreamed that he would dare to attempt such an outrage.  Well, thank Heaven!  I can still hold a rifle, and when he comes out——­”

“Father,” she said gently, “that man is mad.  He is not responsible for his actions, and therefore, except in self-defence, you must not think of such a thing.  As for what he said about you, I believe it was only an empty threat, and for me you need have no fear, his power over me is gone; it went like a flash when his lips touched me,” and she rubbed her own as though to wipe away some stain.  “I am afraid of nothing more.  I believe—­yes, I believe the old Molimo was right, and that all will end well——­”