Before ever she came there, with awful suddenness and inconceivable fury,
the tempest burst. A hurricane of wind tore down the valley to the sea,
and for a few minutes the darkness became so dense that she could scarcely
stumble forward. Then there was light, a dreadful light; all the heavens
seemed to take fire, yes, and the earth, too; it was as though its last
dread catastrophe had fallen on the world.

Buffeted, breathless, Rachel at length reached the edge of the deep
river-bed that may have been fifty yards in width, and was about to step
into it when she became aware of two things. The first was a seething,
roaring noise so loud that it seemed to still even the bellowing of the
thunder, and the next, now seen, now lost, as the lightning pulsed and
darkened, the figure of a youth, a white youth, who had dismounted from a
horse that remained near to but above him, and stood, a gun in his hand,
upon a rock at the farther side of the donga.

He had seen her also and was shouting to her, of this she was sure, for
although the sound of his voice was lost in the tumult, she could perceive
his gesticulations when the lightning flared, and even the movement of his
lips.

Wondering vaguely what a white boy could be doing in such a place and
very glad at the prospect of his company, Rachel began to advance towards
him in short rushes whenever the lightning showed her where to set her
feet. She had made two of these rushes when from the violence and
character of his movements at length she understood that he was trying to
prevent her from coming further, and paused confused.

Another instant and she knew why. Some hundreds of yards above her the
river bed took a turn, and suddenly round this turn, crested with foam,