"Put the knife up," she said quickly, "it is sharp enough." Jantje obeyed with a feeble grin, and the minutes passed on heavily.
"Now, Jantje," she said at last, speaking huskily in her struggle to overcome the spasmodic contractions of her throat, "it is time for you to go." The Hottentot fidgeted about, and at last spoke.
"Missie must come with me!" "Come with you!" answered Jess starting, "why ?" "Because the ghost of the old Englishwoman will be after me if I go alone." "You fool!" said Jess angrily; then recollecting herself she added, "Come, be a man, Jantje; think of your father and mother, and be a man." "I am a man," he answered sulkily, "and I will kill him like a man, but what good is a man against the ghost of a dead Englishwoman?
If I put the knife into her she would only make faces, and fire would come out of the hole.

I will not go without you, missie." "You must go," she said fiercely; "you shall go!" "No, missie, I will not go alone," he answered.
Jess looked at him and saw that Jantje meant what he said.

He was growing sulky, and the worst dispositioned donkey in the world is far, far easier to deal with than a sulky Hottentot.

She must either give up the project or go with the man.

Well, she was equally guilty one way or the other, and being almost callous about detection, she might as well go.