e whole number of those black
ones threw down their weapons and shields and shouted aloud the
"_Bayete_," bending low before him, the look upon the face of the King
was one of gladness and great pride. Then he spoke to us. We had
fought hard and valiantly for that Great One who was no more. We had
been faithful to our rightful King, and had cleaved to him through his
reverses. The stroke of some evil wizard had laid that Great One low in
the dark hours of the night, but the House of Senzangakona was not dead
yet, and we, quick to see this, had hastened to cry the "_Bayete_" to
the head of that house, and the head of the Zulu nation. By reason of
the fidelity we had shown he assured us of his favour, for upon such he
felt he could rely.

Then the principal indunas of the returning army were called up, one by
one, and "named," and thus were continued in the commands they had held
up till now; some indeed being advanced to even greater honour--among
them myself. And Mpande's word stood, for he ever regarded those who
had adhered to Dingane with greater favour than those who had divided
the nation with him. But that day was passed in great rejoicing, and
many cattle were slaughtered, and the feasting went on far into the
night.

Towards its close I retired to my hut, thinking perhaps to find there my
Swazi wives, who had been given me by that Great One who was gone. But
they were not there, nor was any--and while I was thinking what had
become of them the door was pushed softly open, and a voice said:

"Now, Untuswa, do I return. Am I welcome?"

_Whau, Nkose_! Then did I leap to my feet in amazement and joy. For
the voice was that of Lalusini.

She had entered, and was standing upright within the hut.

"Welcome indeed, Lalusini," I replied. "Art thou then tired of thy
sorcery?"

"I think that is so, Untuswa. There is much that is weariful in it. I
would have made thee great, and myself with thee--then whispering--I
would have reigned with thee Queen over this nation, but now I think I
must live and die the wife of an induna only. Well, `the stroke of
Sopuza' has fallen, that is something."

I looked at her strangely in the firelight, for well I knew whose was
the hand that directed "the stroke of Sopuza." She went on:

"Ah, ah, Untuswa! The greatness I had destined for thee can never be
thine. Thou art too faithful. I would have had thee do it--yet my
heart went forth to thee, thou great, brave