lank, all was deadness. Only
the silence of the lonely house, the regular breathing of the sleeper.

"Roden, wake! My heart's life! my beloved one! Wake, wake!"

The voice thrilled in the sleeper's ear, vibrating through the dense,
silent darkness like the notes of a silvery-toned gong. Again there was
a flash of a vision of that face again, pale with horror and dread,
anguished beyond words--the vision of a white-clad form and long
streaming hair.

With a spasmodic start Roden sat bolt upright. What did this mean, what
did it portend, this voice of one who was at that moment a long day's
journey distant, springing thus out of the darkness? Heavens! had
anything happened to her? It was so real, so vivid, that despairing
call! What did it mean? what could it mean?

Seated thus upright on the couch, his eyes rested upon the aperture
formed by the fixing apart of the shutters. This, hardly
distinguishable before, save for a bright star or two beyond it, was now
a stave of light. Daylight? That was his first thought; but in a
moment he knew that it was not daylight, for it was flickering,
changing. The band of light was now a strong, red glare; and together
with the sight there came a sound which there was do mistaking.

Roden was wide awake now; as wide awake as ever he had been in his life.
Rising noiselessly from the couch, gun in hand, even as he had slept,
he made his way, still noiselessly and with great care to avoid knocking
against any obstacle, to the window. One wary glance through the
aperture, and then he beheld that which came near causing the last shred
of hope to die within his heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

BETWEEN BLADE AND FLAME.

The open space in front of the house was alive with armed Kaffirs. Some
were looking at the windows, others were fanning into flame torches
which they carried. More and more came crowding up behind, and the
subdued hubbub of their bass voices was the sound Roden had heard upon
first awakening. They were about as murderous looking a crowd of
savages as the eyes of the solitary white man, practically in their
power already, could ever have the ill fate to rest on. Most of them
were entirely naked, save for a blanket, carried rather than worn, and,
smeared from head to foot with red ochre and grease, showed like
glistening fiends in the smoky glare of the torches, as their sinuous
frames moved to and fro with feline suppleness. A few wore massive
ivory