t would have been odd if a similar
disturbing incident had not come his way before, and that not once only:
yet the feeling of repulsion was none the less real, none the less
unpleasant, now. He would get through the remainder of the night
outside. The ground was open, and there was no thatch overhead to drop
hairy horrors upon him in his sleep. Taking his blanket, he crept out
through the hole which did duty for a doorway.

All traces of the storm had disappeared, and overhead the stars shone
forth in the blue-black vault in a myriad blaze unknown to cold northern
skies. By their light he could just see the time. It was half-past
one.

The night air was fresh, not to say chilly, and he shivered. No
question was there of further sleep, at any rate not for some time.
Wrapping his blanket around him he decided to walk about a little.

On one side of the hut which had been allotted to them was open ground,
by reason of it being the site of several old habitations which had been
removed to make way for new ones. This would supply him with excellent
space for his sentry-like walk.

So still was the great kraal that it might have been the abode of the
dead--the clustering huts so many mausoleums. Not even a dog was astir,
which might be accounted for by the fact that there were but few in the
place, and they probably away on the farther side. And then it occurred
to Lamont that nocturnal perambulation with no external, and therefore
legitimate, object, especially during the small hours, was an unpopular
form of exercise among natives. Only _abatagati_, or evil-disposed
wizards, prowled about at night, they held, wherefore his present
wandering was injudicious--might even prove dangerous. He had better go
in.

Now, as he arrived at this conclusion, his perambulations had brought
him to the other side of the open space above described--that farthest
removed from his own hut, and as he turned to carry it into effect he
stopped short--a thrill of astonishment tingling through his frame. For
his ear had caught the low murmur of voices and--in among them--the
native version of his own name.

Yes, there it was again, distinctly--`U' Lamonti.' What did it mean?
The whole kraal should by rights have been plunged in slumber, yet here
was quite a conclave of its inhabitants, not only very wide awake, but
engaged in some apparently earnest discussion--in which his own name
seemed to hold no unimportant a place. A cur