ion was, as conjured up by the metal box, in
other respects the old life seemed far away as a dream; misty, shadowy,
vanishing. All its old conventionalities, its abstract notions of right
and wrong, what were they? Dust. Even now, whither was he wending? Would
he ever again behold a white face? It might be never.

"Have no white people ever visited your country, Silawayo?" he said one
day while he and the two war-chiefs were talking together during the
march.

"One only," was the reply, given with a shade of hesitation.

"And what became of him?"

"_Au!_ He went to---- Well, he went----" answered the chief, with a
curious look.

The reply smote upon Laurence with a cold fear. What grim and gruesome
form of mysterious doom did it not point to? "One only," Silawayo had
said. He himself was the second. It seemed ominous. But it would never
do to manifest curiosity, let alone apprehension, on his own account, so
he forebore further query as to the mystery, whatever it might be. Yet
he thought it no harm to say:

"And what was this white man, Silawayo?"

"He was _Umfundisi_" (a preacher), answered the other chief, Ngumunye.
"The king loves not such."

Well, the king need have no objections to himself on that score, at any
rate, thought Laurence, with a dash of grim humour. But he only said:

"The king? Tell me about your king, _Izinduna_. How does he look? What
is his name?"

"_Hau!_ Is it possible, O stranger, that you have never heard the name
of the king?" said Ngumunye, turning upon Laurence a blankly astonished
face.

"Did not Silawayo but now say that only one white man had visited your
country--and even he had not returned?" said Laurence, in native
fashion answering one query with another.

"Ha!" cried both chiefs, whom an idea seemed to strike. Then Ngumunye
went on impressively:

"Look around, O bearer of the Sign of the Spider. For days we have seen
no man,--the remains of huts have we seen, but of people none. You too
were remarking upon it but yesterday."

"That is so," assented Laurence.

"The remains of huts, but of people none," repeated the induna, with a
wave of his hand. "Well, stranger, that is the name of the king, the
Great Great One."

"The name of the king?"

"I'Tyisandhlu!"

"I'Tyisandhlu? The Strong Wind that burns from the North?" repeated
Laurence, translating the name.

"_E-he!_" assented the chiefs emphatically. "Now say,--hath not a broad
belt around the land of the