to seize the carving-knife, was
stabbed again and again with sword-bayonets before he could raise a
hand, and fell to the floor. The wretched woman, too petrified with the
suddenness and terror of it all even to shriek, was promptly despatched;
one savage drawing his weapon across her throat with a slash that nearly
severed the head. It was all over in a moment. Yet one victim
remained:

John Ames, now bound fast to his chair with straps, felt himself grow
dizzy and sick with the horror of this appalling butchery. Blood
dripped to the floor, then splashed in bright red drops on the garments
of the murderers. And those garments were the uniform of the Native
Police.

All seemed to heave in misty dimness before his eyes. In a moment he
would faint. Then, with a vast effort of will, he recovered himself.
Why had _he_ been spared? In a moment the whole situation flashed
through his brain. This was the beginning of a general rising. The
Native Police had no grudge against their officers, let alone against
Inglefield, who was, if anything, too easy-going. If _they_ were in
open revolt, then the rising was general, even as he and one or two
others had feared might one day be the case. The fiercely sullen
demeanour of Madula and his people at the destruction of their cattle
now assumed an aspect of deadly significance. The destruction of their
cattle! Ah, there was the last straw! But--why had he been spared?

Then amid this scene of horror hope came uppermost. His administration
had always been signalled by strict and impartial justice to the
natives, even when white interests were concerned--a line, be it
whispered, not invariably the rule in those days, when the policy known
as "supporting the white man against the black" at any cost, was deemed
wise and necessary. He was known to several of the chiefs, and by
chiefs and people alike respected. It might well be that he was marked
out for exemption from a general massacre.

But now a voice, lifted up, seemed to shatter to fragments any such
hopes--a great jeering voice, vengeful, triumphant, menacing. It was
the voice of Nanzicele, addressing him in voluble Sindabele.

"Ho, Jonemi! Where are you now? And these? `Let the people have
patience. Let the people have patience,' Your words, Jonemi. Great
words, Jonemi! Well, the people have had patience, and now their day is
come. By this time to-morrow all the whites in the land will be dead."

"Wi