At last the man came back; and they asked him, "What have you seen?"
"Nothing," he said, "but the sheep asleep in their kraals, and the
moonlight on the walls. And yet, it did seem to me," he added, "that far
away near the krantz by the river, I saw three figures moving. And
afterwards--it might have been fancy--I thought I heard the cry again; but
since that, all has been still there."

...

Next day a navvy had returned to the railway works.

"Where have you been so long?" his comrades asked.

"He keeps looking over his shoulder," said one, "as though he thought he
should see something there."

"When he drank his grog today," said another, "he let it fall, and looked
round."

Next day, a small old Bushman, and a Hottentot, in ragged yellow trousers,
were at a wayside canteen. When the Bushman had had brandy, he began to
tell how something (he did not say whether it was man, woman, or child) had
lifted up its hands and cried for mercy; had kissed a white man's hands,
and cried to him to help it. Then the Hottentot took the Bushman by the
throat, and dragged him out.

Next night, the moon rose up, and mounted the quiet sky. She was full now,
and looked in at the little home; at the purple flowers stuck about the
room, and the kippersol on the shelf. Her light fell on the willow trees,
and on the high rocks, and on a little new-made heap of earth and round