ther, and long before she was of a marriageable age,
he had determined eventually to marry her. So he went away and worked
for three long years; his strong, self-contained nature needing nothing
but this one fixed idea to steady it. Maliwe was not what is known as a
"School Kafir." He was quite uncivilised in every respect, and was
utterly heathen. He could speak no word of any language except his
own, and he believed implicitly in "Tikoloshe" and the "Lightning
Bird."

His pipe finished, Maliwe arose and fetched a musical instrument from
the hut. This consisted of a stick about three feet long, bent into a
bow by a string made of twisted sinews. About eight inches from one end
was fixed a small dry gourd, with a hole large enough, to admit a five
shilling piece cut out of the side furthest from the point of
attachment. Music is made on such an instrument by holding it so that
that part of the gourd where the aperture is, is pressed against the
naked breast, and then twanging on the string with a small stick. About
four notes can be extracted by a skilful player. The result is not
cheerful, and to the civilised ear the strains of a Jew's harp are
preferable. But the twanging eased the burthen of longing which Maliwe
bore, and no lute-player in passionate Andalusia ever poured out his
love in melody with more genuine feeling than did this savage on his
"U-hade."

Maliwe had waited through these long years--and how long are not the
years under such circumstances?--with a kind of contented impatience,
and as time went by, the impatience waxed and the contentment waned.
With the premonition of genuine love he had seen the budding woman of
today in the child of three years ago. He had worked and waited. His
reward was now near, and anticipation was sweet. In imagination he saw
the little brown babies with the weasel-tooth necklets, tumbling about
the hut and toddling up the path to meet him when he drove home his
nock in the evening, whilst Nalai stood at the door looking with pride
on their progeny.

Sibi, the dog, gave a low growl, and then rushed along the footpath
barking furiously. A man emerged from the darkness, keeping the dog at
bay with his kerrie. Maliwe, seeing nothing suspicious about the
stranger, called off the dog, which retired still growling into the
hut. The man approached.

"Greeting, Maliwe," he cried. "Do you not know me?"

"Greeting," replied Maliwe, "but I do not know you. Where are you
thi