“Yes; Leopard’s Kloof, no other.  You have travelled along the top of the hill, not at the bottom.  Certainly that was a good thought which came to me from the lady your daughter, for she is one of the thought senders, I am sure.  Ah! it came to me suddenly; it hit me like a stick whilst I was searching for you, having found that you had lost the waggon.  It said to me, ‘Ride to the top of Leopard’s Kloof.  Ride hard.’  I rode hard through the rocks and the darkness, through the mist and the rain, and not one minute had I been here when you came and I caught the lady’s bridle.”

“I am sure we are very grateful to you,” murmured Benita.

“Then I am paid back ten thousand times.  No; it is I who am grateful—­I who have saved your life through the thought you sent me.”

“Thought or no thought, all’s well that ends well,” broke in Mr. Clifford impatiently.  “And thank Heaven we are not more than three miles away from home.  Will you lead the way, Jacob?  You always could see in the dark?”

“Yes, yes,” and he took hold of Benita’s bridle with his firm, white hand.  “Oh! my horse will follow, or put your arm through his rein—­so.  Now come on, Miss Clifford, and be afraid no more.  With Jacob Meyer you are safe.”

So they began their descent of the hill.  Meyer did not speak again; all his attention seemed to be concentrated upon finding a safe path on which the horses would not stumble.  Nor did Benita speak; she was too utterly exhausted—­so exhausted, indeed, that she could no longer control her mind and imagination.  These seemed to loose themselves from her and to acquire new powers, notably that of entering into the secret thoughts of the man at her side.  She saw them pass before her like living things, and yet she could not read them.  Still, something she did understand—­that she had suddenly grown important to this man, not in the way in which women are generally important to men, but otherwise.  She felt as though she had become interwoven with the objects of his life, and was henceforth necessary to their fulfilment, as though she were someone whom he had been seeking for years on years, the one person who could give him light in his darkness.

These imaginings troubled her, so that she was very thankful when they passed away as swiftly as they had arisen, and she knew only that she was half dead with weariness and cold; that her limbs ached and that the steep path seemed endless.

At length they reached level ground, and after travelling along it for a while and crossing the bed of a stream, passed through a gate, and stopped suddenly at the door of a house with lighted windows.

“Here is your home at last, Miss Clifford,” said the musical voice of Jacob Meyer, “and I thank the Fate which rules us that it has taught me to bring you to it safely.”

Making no answer she slid from the saddle, only to find that she could not stand, for she sank into a heap upon the ground.  With a gentle exclamation he lifted her, and calling to two Kaffirs who had appeared to take the horses, led her into the house.