had ever known, of the presence of
strangers in the ranks of the lion-cubs, of the presence _of a
stranger_. And every time they repeated the words they would sway round
so as to face me, as I sat among the _izinduna_ at the right hand of the
King.

Then, _Nkose_, the nerves within me seemed to tingle. Well knew I the
meaning of this. _I_ was the object of their denunciations. Any moment
now I might step into the Dark Unknown. Doom had found me at last. _I
was being "smelt out_."

Well, indeed, could I see through it all now. This had been arranged
between Tambusa, my enemy, and Tola, the head _izanusi_. The singing
band of girls, designed to add novelty to the witch finding, as well as
to please Dingane, had for its object my death. The red cloud began to
surge around my brain as I sat there. Not in me was it to die tamely;
and softly I reached forth for the stick which was the only approach to
a weapon which custom allowed upon such an occasion, and calculated how
great a spring would enable me to crush in Tambusa's skull ere they
could lay hands on me. The death of the stake would be my lot; no
matter--I must slay somebody.

The band of singing-girls swayed nearer and nearer; then with a rush of
their light feet they came straight for me. Now for the doom. But--not
yet. Some unseen force seemed to turn them back again. They held on
around the circle, not having pointed at or named me.

This happened several times, and each time I looked to hear the word of
doom, each time I tightened up my muscles for my spring upon Tambusa.
Each time, too, the song denunciatory of "the stranger" grew fiercer,
each time only to sink and die away in their throats. Then the
_izanusi_, as in encouragement, lifted up their deep hoarse voices, as
the voices of beasts growling for blood.

_Whau, Nkose_! I can see it all still--for at such moments a man may
seem to live a thousand lifetimes--the immense kraal, with its ringed
fences and vast circles of yellow huts--the assembled multitude
blackening the earth in its awed hush--the sea of expectant faces--the
countenance of the King sternly set, those of the _izinduna_
expressionless as stones--the band of singing-girls--the savage eyes of
the witch doctors--and, as a background to the whole, a brooding sky,
blue-black with the threatenings of its pent-up storm.

Once more, encouraged by the wild howling of the _izanusi_, this strange
band of doom came whirling towar