to her, left alone with Jacob Meyer?  The knowledge of his own folly, understood too late, filled him with shame.  How could he have been so wicked as to bring a girl upon such a quest in the company of an unprincipled Jew, of whose past he knew nothing except that it was murky and dubious?  He had committed a great crime, led on by a love of lucre, and the weight of it pressed upon his tongue and closed his lips; he knew not what to say.

For a little while Benita was silent also; hope died within her.  But she was a bold-spirited woman, and by degrees her courage re-asserted itself.  Indignation filled her breast and shone through her dark eyes.  Suddenly she turned upon Jacob, who sat before them smoking his pipe and enjoying their discomfiture.

“How dare you?” she asked in a low, concentrated voice.  “How dare you, you coward?”

He shrank a little beneath her scorn and anger; then seemed to recover and brace himself, as one does who feels that a great struggle is at hand, upon the issue of which everything depends.

“Do not be angry with me,” he answered.  “I cannot bear it.  It hurts—­ah! you don’t know how it hurts.  Well, I will tell you, and before your father, for that is more honourable.  I dare—­for your sake.”

“For my sake?  How can it benefit me to be cooped up in this horrible place with you?  I would rather trust myself with the Makalanga, or even,” she added with bitter scorn, “even with those bloody-minded Matabele.”

“You ran away from them very fast a little while ago, Miss Clifford.  But you do not understand me.  When I said for your sake, I meant for my own.  See, now.  You tried to leave me the other day and did not succeed.  Another time you might succeed, and then—­what would happen to me?”

“I do not know, Mr. Meyer,” and her eyes added—­“I do not care.”

“Ah! but I know.  Last time it drove me nearly mad; next time I should go quite mad.”

“Because you believe that through me you will find this treasure of which you dream day and night, Mr. Meyer——­”

“Yes,” he interrupted quickly.  “Because I believe that in you I shall find the treasure of which I dream day and night, and because that treasure has become necessary to my life.”

Benita turned quickly towards her father, who was puzzling over the words, but before either of them could speak Jacob passed his hand across his brow in a bewildered way and said: 

“What was I talking of?  The treasure, yes, the uncountable treasure of pure gold, that lies hid so deep, that is so hard to discover and to possess; the useless, buried treasure that would bring such joy and glory to us both, if only it could be come at and reckoned out, piece by piece, coin by coin, through the long, long years of life.”

Again he paused; then went on.

“Well, Miss Clifford, you are quite right; that is why I have dared to make you a prisoner, because, as the old Molimo said, the treasure is yours and I wish to share it.  Now, about this treasure, it seems that it can’t be found, can it, although I have worked so hard?” and he looked at his delicate, scarred hands.