When she had gone, after consulting apart for a while with Sihamba,Suzanne spoke.
"Now, chief," she said, "I understand the cause of this war and in truthit is a strange one. Still, as I must lead your armies, and as I do notlove to see men killed for such a quarrel, here and before we start Iwill lay down the terms of peace if it should please Sikonyana and thepeople of the Endwandwe to accept them. Subject to your wisdom theyshall be these: If Sikonyana will give to you that Batwa whom you desirein the place of the Batwa whom you do not desire, paying back to you thethousand head of cattle, and by way of fine for his deceit, if indeed hemeant to deceive you, for you do not seem to have told him which of themany Batwas you sought, two thousand other head of cattle, then no bloodshall be shed and you and your impi shall return in peace and honour.If he will not do this, then the war must go as it is fated. Say, do youconsent as I counsel you to do? for otherwise, although I go with you mygoodwill will not go, since I am the Swallow of peace and not the Hawkof war."
Now there followed a great _indaba_ or debate between Sigwe and hiscounsellors and captains, some of them taking one view of the matter,and some of them the other, but the end of it was that the party ofpeace prevailed, it being agreed between them that if the Endwandwewould grant these terms and in addition an ox for every man who mightdie or be killed upon the journey, the impi should return withoutputting the matter to the chance of war, and this the chief and hiscounsellors swore solemnly to Suzanne. Indeed Sigwe was glad to swearit, for he sought that Batwa for whom he longed rather than the dangersof battle and the risk of defeat in a far land, while those who were forfighting at all costs thought that the oath meant little, since they didnot believe that the great Sikonyana would make peace upon such terms.
When this matter was settled Suzanne prayed the chief that he wouldallow her to send Zinti as a messenger to her husband and father to tellthem that she lived and was well. But on this matter, and this only,Sigwe would not listen to her, and though he gave many reasons for hisrefusal, the true one was that he feared lest the white men, on learningher whereabouts, should gather a commando and send it to take her fromhim, as doubtless we should have done had it been in any way possible.
Indeed, the foolish dream of the diviner as to the leading of his armyby a white swallow, followed as it chanced to be by the arrival athis town of a woman who was named Swallow, had taken such a hold ofSigwe--who, like all savages, was very superstitious--that for nothingwhich could have been offered to him would he have consented to letSuzanne go until the war with the Endwandwe was finished. Rather thando so he would have fought till the last, and he issued an order thatif any man, woman, or child spoke of Suzanne's presence in his town tostrangers they should be put to death without mercy. Moreover, in histerror lest she should escape, he set a guard over her and Sihamba dayand night and other guards over the horses and the lad Zinti, so thatthey soon learned that all hopes of flight must be abandoned and that itwas not possible even to send a messenger or a letter.
As may be guessed this was a sore grief to Suzanne, so great a griefthat when they were back in the guest-hut she wept long and bitterly,for her heart ached with her own sorrow, and she knew well how deepwould be the torment of mind of Ralph if he still lived, and of us, herfather and mother, when we learned that she had vanished quite away,and that none could tell what her fate had been. At first she thought ofbidding Zinti slip away under cover of the night, but Sihamba showed herthat even if he could do so, which was not likely, the end of it mustbe that he would be followed and put to death, and that then his bloodwould be upon their hands and no good done. Afterwards she tried tobribe and to command several men of her guard to take the message, butin this matter alone the people of Sigwe would not obey her, for theyknew the doom which awaited them if they listened to her pleading. So,when she spoke, they looked into the air over her head, and did not seemto hear, although afterwards they reported her words to Sigwe, whereuponthat chief doubled the guard, setting a second to watch the first.
And now I have to tell you one of the strangest things in the strangestory of the love of Ralph Kenzie and my daughter Suzanne. It willbe remembered that it was by means of a dream--or so the childdeclared--that Suzanne was led to where the boy Ralph lay alone andstarving in the kloof. So now in this second great crisis of theirlives, it was by means of a dream that comfort was brought to the heartsof both of them, enabling them, as I believe, to bear the terrors ofthose long years of tidingless terror and separation, that otherwisewould have broken down their minds and perhaps have killed them.
It seems, as Suzanne told me in after days, that before she slept thatnight, there in the guest-hut of Sigwe, she prayed long and earnestlyas those who have faith do pray when they lie under the shadow of anoverwhelming grief. She prayed that God would bring about what she wasunable to bring about, namely, that her husband should learn that shewas unharmed and well, and that she might learn how it went with him,seeing that for aught she knew, by now he might be dead of his wounds.Well, that prayer was heard, for I myself can testify to it, asthe prayer of faith is so often heard; yes, that which seemed to beimpossible was done, for in the watches of the night these two who lay ahundred miles apart, one of them a prisoner in the town of a savage,and the other helpless upon a bed of pain, had sight and speech of eachother.
Still praying, Suzanne fell asleep. Then of a sudden it seemed as thoughspace had no bars for her, for she awoke, or thought that she awoke, inthe guest-hut of Sigwe, since she could hear the breathing of Sihamba ather side, and stretching out her hand she touched her face. But in thetwinkling of an eye there came a change, for, still wide awake, nowshe was standing in the stead at home just within the door of herown sleeping-room. There upon the bed lay her husband, fevered andunconscious, but muttering to himself, while bending over him were I,her mother, and a strange man whom she did not know, but who, asshe guessed, must have been roused from his sleep, for his hair wasdishevelled and he was half-clothed.
To this man she heard me--her mother--talking. "The fever runs so high,doctor," I said, "that I made bold to wake you from your rest, for Ifear lest it should burn his life away." Thereupon she saw the man lookat Ralph, feeling his pulse, and heard him answer as he examined thebandages of the wound, "His hurt does well, and I do not think that thefever comes from it. It comes from his mind, and it is there that thedanger lies, for who can doctor a broken heart?"
"Heaven only," I replied.
"Yes," he said. "Heaven only. And now, Vrouw Botmar, go and rest awhile,hoping for the best, for you will hear him if he wakes up, but he willnot wake, since the sleep-draught that I gave him holds him fast."
Then she saw us both go--the doctor back to his bed and me to a settlewith mattress on it, which was placed just outside his door.
Here I would stop my tale to say that _this thing happened_, and thatthose words which Suzanne heard while her body lay in Sigwe's guest-hut,passed between the doctor, who was sleeping at the stead, and myselfat one o'clock of the morning on the third night after the night ofthe taking of Suzanne, and moreover, that I never spoke of them to anyliving creature until Suzanne repeated them to me in later years. Norcould the doctor have told them to her, for he went away to the provinceof Graff Reinet, where shortly afterwards he was killed by a fall fromhis horse.
Then it seemed to Suzanne that she moved to the bedside of her husband,and bending down, kissed him upon the forehead, which was hot to herlips, saying, "Awake, dear love." Instantly, in her vision, he awokewith a cry of joy, and said, "Suzanne, how came you here?" to which sheanswered, "I am not here. I have escaped unharmed from Swart Piet, butI am a prisoner in the hands of red Kaffirs, and to-morrow I lead theirarmy to the north. Yet it has been permitted me to visit you, husband,and to tell you to be of good comfort and to fear no evil tidings, foryou will recover and we shall meet again, unharmed in any way, thoughnot till many days are passed."
"Where shall we meet?" he asked. "I do not know," she answered. "Yes, Isee now. Look
before you."
Then they looked, both of them, and there painted in the air they sawthe picture of a great mountain, standing by itself upon a plain, butwith other mountains visible to the north and south of it. This mountainwas flat-topped, with precipices of red rock, and down its eastern sloperan five ridges shaped like the thumb and fingers of a mighty hand,while between the thumb and the first finger, as it were, a streamgushed out, upon the banks of which grew flat-topped trees with thickgreen leaves and white bloom.
"You have seen and you will remember, fearing nothing," she said in hervision.
"I have seen and I shall remember, fearing nothing," Ralph answered, andwith the sound of his voice still echoing in her ears, Suzanne awokein the guest-hut of Sigwe, and once more heard Sihamba breathing at herside, and felt the hand which she had outstretched to find her, pressedagainst her cheek. But now there was a new sense of comfort in herheart, for she believed that without any doubt she had seen her husband,and that although they were separated, still the day would come whenthey should meet again, not in the spirit but in the flesh.