His story done, Rachel told him hers, to which he listened eagerly.
"Is your father mad?" he asked when she had finished.
"No," she answered. "How dare you suggest it? He is only very good; much better than anybody else."
"Well, it seems to come to much the same thing, doesn't it?" said Richard, "for otherwise he would not have sent you to gather gooseberries here with such a storm coming on."
"Then why did your father send you to hunt lions with such a storm coming on?" she asked.
"He didn't send me. I came of myself; I said that I wanted to shoot a buck, and finding the spoor of a lion I followed it. The waggons must be a long way ahead now, for when I left them I returned to that kloof where I had seen the buck. I don't know how I shall overtake them again, and certainly nobody will ever think of looking for me here, as after this rain they can't spoor the horse."
"Supposing you don't find it--I mean your horse--tomorrow, what shall you do?" asked Rachel. "We haven't got any to lend you."
"Walk and try to catch them up," he replied.
"And if you can't catch them up?"
"Come back to you, as the wild Kaffirs ahead would kill me if I went on alone."
"Oh! But what would your father think?"
"He would think there was one boy the less, that's all, and be sorry for a while. People often vanish in Africa where there are so many lions and savages."
Rachel reflected a while, then finding the subject difficult, suggested that he should find out what their own particular lions were doing. So Richard went to look, and reported that the storm had ceased, and that by the moonlight he could see no lions or any other animals, so he thought that they must have gone away somewhere. The flood waters also appeared to be running down. Comforted by this intelligence Rachel piled on the fire nearly all the wood that remained to them. Then they sat down again side by side, and tried to continue their conversation. By degrees it drooped, however, and the end of it was that presently this pair were fast asleep in each other's arms.