It was Jantje.
"_Is it done ?_" she whispered again.
He shook his head and drew her away from the tent.

In going her foot caught one of the guy-ropes and stirred it slightly.
"I could not do it, missie," he said.

"He is asleep and looks just like a child.

When I lifted the knife he smiled in his sleep and all the strength went out of my arm, so that I could not strike.

And then before I grew strong again the spook of the old Englishwoman came and hit me in the back, and I ran away." If a look could have blasted a human being Jantje would assuredly have been blasted then.