At the time he was following her, begging her not to be angry at a joke, for his madness was satisfied for a while and had left him.

But she only looked in answer, and there was something so terrible to him in the dark eyes of this young unfriended girl that he shrank back, seeing in them, perhaps, the shadow of fate to come.

Then Suzanne rode away, and Swart Piet, having commanded his ruffians to fire the huts of Sihamba, and to collect her people, goods, and cattle, went away also.
Just at the mouth of the valley something stirred in a bush, causing the horse to start, so that Suzanne, who was thinking of other things, slipped from it to the ground.

Next moment she saw that it was Sihamba, who knelt before her, kissing her feet and the hem of her robe.
"Rise," she said kindly; "what has been cannot be helped, and at least it was no fault of yours." "Nay, Swallow," said Sihamba, for I think I have said that was the name which the natives had given to Suzanne from childhood, I believe, because of the grace of her movements and her habit of running swiftly hither and thither--"Nay, Swallow, in a way it was my fault." "What do you mean, Sihamba ?" "I mean, Swallow, that although I am so small some have thought me pretty, and the real reason of Black Piet's hate for me is--but why should I defile your ears with the tale ?" "They would only match my face if you did," answered Suzanne grimly, "but there is no need; I can guess well enough." "You can guess, Swallow; then you will see why it was my fault.

Yes, yes, you will see that what I, a black woman, who am less than dirt in the eyes of your people, would not do to save my own life; you, a white chieftainess, and the fairest whom we know, have done of your own will to keep it in me." "If the act was good," answered Suzanne, "may it go to my credit in the Book of the Great One who made us." "It will go to your credit, Swallow," answered Sihamba with passion, "both in that Book and in the hearts of all who hear this story, but most of all in this heart of mine.