Noie translated the words, but Rachel seemed to take no heed of them.
"Dingaan?" she asked. "Is Dingaan dead? He was well enough when--when Richard came to Zululand, and since then I have seen nothing of him. How did he die?"
"He did not die, Zoola," answered Noie, "though I think that ere long he will die, for you told him so. It was you who died for a while, not Dingaan. By-and-bye you shall learn all that story. Now you are very weary and must rest."
"Yes," said Rachel with a sob, "I think I died when Richard died, but now I seem to have come to life again--that is the worst of it. Oh!! Noie, Noie, why did you not let me remain dead, instead of bringing me to life again in this dreadful place?"
"Because it was otherwise fated, Sister," replied Noie. "No, do not begin to laugh and cry; it was otherwise fated," and bending down she whispered something into Nya's ear.
The old dwarf nodded, then, taking Rachel by the hand, led her to where some skins were spread upon the floor.
"Lie down," she said, "and rest. Rest, beautiful White One, and wake up to eat and be strong again," and she gazed into Rachel's eyes as Eddo had done when the fits of wild laughter were on her, singing something as she gazed.
While she sang the madness that was gathering there again went out of Rachel's eyes, the lids closed over them, and presently they were fast shut in sleep, nor did she open them again for many hours.
Rachel awoke and sat up looking round her wonderingly. Then by the dim light of the lamps she saw Noie seated at her side, and the old dwarf-woman, who was called Mother of the Trees, squatted at a little distance watching them both--and remembered.
"Thou hast had happy dreams, Lady, and thou art well again, is it not so?" queried Nya.
"Aye, Mother," she answered, "too happy, for they make my waking the more sad. And I am well, I who desire to die."
"Then go up through the open gate which thou sawest not so long ago, and satisfy thy desire, as it is easy to do," replied Nya grimly. "Nay," she added in a changed voice, "go not up, thou art too young and fair, the blood runs too red in those blue veins of thine. What hast thou to do with ghosts and death, and the darkness of the trees, thou child of the air and sunshine? Death for the dwarf-folk, death for the dealers in dreams, death for the death-lovers, but for thee life--life."