act as a stimulant upon the old man's
torpid mind. In fact, they brought the farther past into stronger
relief than the more recent, and then reality dawned up through the
mists of fantasy that had clouded his brain for so long. His eye
brightened. He remembered the past. He knew clearly where he was, and
why he was there.

Gazing fixedly at the King, Kondwana let the broken spear fall to the
ground, and then with his shaking right hand began fumbling at the skin
wallet. After some little delay, he succeeded in opening this, and then
he drew from it a lump of bright copper ore, about the size of a hen's
egg. This he silently held out to Tshaka.

The King took the lump and examined it, and then looked sharply at the
giver's face for a few seconds. Then in a tone of irritated surprise,
he asked:

"Are you Kondwana?"

"Yes, my King."

"Where are your soldiers, and where are the stones you were sent to
fetch?"

"The soldiers are dead, my King. Only this one and I are living. We
were overcome by the Makalakas and the Balotsi. We slew them in crowds,
but they were too many for us, and we had no food. I have brought the
stone to show that I tried to do your bidding."

When Tshaka recognised Kondwana, his superstitious fears at once
vanished. Here was no wizard potent for evil, but his own man
Kondwana, the induna, whom he hated and had sent away so as to be rid
of him. Besides, Kondwana stood there self-convicted of the deadly sin
which admitted of no pardon; he had returned unsuccessful from an
expedition; he had been defeated. Moreover, Tshaka was in a bad temper
owing to the causes we have specified.

So he signed to one of his ever-ready executioners and said:

"Take them away and kill them."

The executioners approached, but Kondwana drew himself up with
ineffable dignity, signed to them with his hand to pause, and spake in
a firm voice.

"O King, for my own death I thank you, for why should I longer live?
But this man is still young, and has done no evil deed. Let him wash
his spear once in the blood of your enemies, and die at the tip of your
battle-horn."

Tshaka, thoroughly enraged, was a fearsome sight. Like Peter the Great,
his features worked and twitched horribly. Those who beheld him thus,
felt that they were before the very face of Death, embodied and
visible.

All in his presence, except the two doomed men, crouched to the ground
and hid their faces in their hands. Even his mother, 'Mnande,