ion, wearing the
appearance of people who from day to day live in dread of slavery and
death. Opposite to them was a break in the circle, through which Tamas
led them, and as they crossed it Benita felt that all those people
were staring at her with their sad eyes. A few paces from where the
man crouched against the wall, his head hidden by a beautifully worked
blanket that was thrown over it, were placed three well-carved stools.
Upon these, at a motion from Tamas, they sat themselves down, and, as it
was not dignified for them to speak first, remained silent.

"Be patient and forgive," said Tamas at length. "My father, Mambo, prays
to the Munwali and the spirits of his fathers that this coming of yours
may be fortunate, and that a vision of those things that are to be may
descend upon him."

Benita, feeling nearly two hundred pairs of eyes concentrated upon her,
wished that the vision might come quickly, but after a minute or
two fell into tune with the thing, and almost enjoyed this strange
experience. Those mighty ancient walls built by hands unknown, which
had seen so much history and so much death; the silent, triple ring
of patient, solemn men, the last descendants of a cultured race, the
crouching figure hidden beneath the blanket, who imagined himself to be
communicating with his god--it was all very strange, very well worth the
seeing to one who had wearied of the monotony of civilization.

Look, the man stirred, and threw back his blanket, revealing a head
white with age, a spiritual, ascetic face, so thin that every bone
showed in it, and dark eyes which stared upwards unseeingly, like those
of a person in a trance. Thrice he sighed, while his tribesmen watched
him. Then he let his eyes fall upon the three white people seated
in front of him. First he looked at Mr. Clifford, and his face grew
troubled; then at Jacob Meyer, and it was anxious and alarmed. Lastly,
he stared at Benita, and while he did so the dark eyes became calm and
happy.

"White maiden," he said in a soft, low voice, "for you, at least, I have
good tidings. Though Death come near to you, though you see him on your
right hand and your left, and in front of you and behind you, I say,
fear not. Here you, who have known deep sorrow, shall find happiness and
rest, O maiden, with whom goes the spirit of one pure and fair as you,
who died so long ago."

Then, while Benita wondered at his words, spoken with such sweet
earnestness that althoug