But when Umslopogaas was through, by the
light of his torch he perceived a tall and slender man, who leaned
against the wall of the cave and held a shield before his face.
"You are a coward!" he cried, and smote with Groan-Maker. The great
axe pierced the hide, but, missing the head behind, rang loudly
against the rock, and as it struck a sweet voice said:--
"Ah! soldier, do not kill me! Why are you angry with me?"
Now the shield had come away from its holder's hands upon the blade of
the axe, and there was something in the notes of the voice that caused
Umslopogaas to smite no more: it was as though a memory of childhood
had come to him in a dream. His torch was burning low, but he thrust
it forward to look at him who crouched against the rock. The dress was
the dress of a man, but this was no man's form--nay, rather that of a
lovely woman, well-nigh white in colour. She dropped her hands from
before her face, and now he could see her well. He saw eyes that shone
like stars, hair that curled and fell upon the shoulders, and such
beauty as was not known among our people. And as the voice had spoken
to him of something that was lost, so did the eyes seem to shine
across the blackness of many years, and the beauty to bring back he
knew not what.
He looked at the girl in all her loveliness, and she looked at him in
his fierceness and his might, red with war and wounds.
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