of a certain white doctor in a swamp where grow
yellow-wood trees. For there in Natal you will be taken, all of
you, and sent back to the Transvaal to be tried before a man who
wears upon his head horse's hair stained white. But if you come
to Zululand this shadow shall pass away from you, since great
things are about to happen which will cause so small a matter to
be forgot. Moreover, I Zikali, who do not lie, promise this:
That however great may be their dangers here in Zululand, those
half-fledged ones whom you, the old night-hawk, cover with your
wings, shall in the end suffer no harm; those of whom I spoke to
you in your dream, the white lord, Mauriti, and the white lady,
Heddana, who stretch out their arms one to another. I wait to
welcome you, here at the Black Kloof, whither my daughter Nombe
will guide you. Cetewayo, the king, also will welcome you, and
so will another whose name I do not utter. Now choose. I have
spoken.'"

Having delivered her message Nombe stood quite still, smiling as
before, and apparently indifferent as to its effect.

"How do I know that you come from Zikali?" I asked. "You may be
but the bait set upon a trap."

From somewhere within her robe she produced a knife and handed it
to me, remarking--

"The Master says you will remember this, and by it know that the
message comes from him. He bade me add that with it was carved a
certain image that once he gave to you at Panda's kraal, wrapped
round with a woman's hair, which image you still have."

I looked at the knife and did remember it, for it was one of
those of Swedish make with a wooden handle, the first that I had
ever seen in Africa. I had made a present of it to Zikali when I
returned to Zululand before the war between the Princes. The
image, too, I still possessed. It was that of the woman called
Mameena who brought about the war, and the wrapping which covered
it was of the hair that once grew upon her head.

"The words are Zikali's," I said, returning her the knife, "but
why do you call yourself the child of one who is too old to be a
father?"

"The Master says that my great-grandmother was his daughter and
that therefore I am his child. Now, Macumazahn, I go to eat with
my people, for I have servants with me. Then I must speak with
the Swazi king, for whom I also have a message, which I cannot do
at present because he is still drunk with the white man's liquor.
After that I shall be ready to return with