in her own place. Twice more I saw her, as you shall hear, but that
was on the earth and with my waking eyes. Yes, thrice has it been given
to me in all to look upon that face that I shall now see no more till I
am dead, for no man may look four times on the Inkosazana and live. Or
am I mad, my father, and did I weave these visions from the woof of my
madness? I do not know, but it is true that I seemed to see them.

I woke when the sky was grey with the morning light; it was the pain of
my burnt hand that aroused me from my sleep or from my stupor. I rose
shaking the ashes from me, and went without the kraal to wash away their
defilement. Then I returned, and sat outside the gates of the Emposeni,
waiting till the king's women, whom he named his sisters, should come
to draw water according to their custom. At last they came, and, sitting
with my kaross thrown over my face to hide it, looked for the passing of
Baleka. Presently I saw her; she was sad-faced, and walked slowly, her
pitcher on her head. I whispered her name, and she drew aside behind an
aloe bush, and, making pretence that her foot was pierced with a thorn,
she lingered till the other women had gone by. Then she came up to me,
and we greeted one another, gazing heavily into each other's eyes.

"In an ill day did I hearken to you, Baleka," I said, "to you and to
the Mother of the Heavens, and save your child alive. See now what has
sprung from this seed! Dead are all my house, dead is the Mother of
the Heavens--all are dead--and I myself have been put to the torment by
fire," and I held out my withered hand towards her.

"Ay, Mopo, my brother," she answered, "but flesh is nearest to flesh,
and I should think little of it were not my son Umslopogaas also dead,
as I have heard but now."

"You speak like a woman, Baleka. Is it, then, nothing to you that I,
your brother, have lost--all I love?"

"Fresh seed can yet be raised up to you, my brother, but for me there is
no hope, for the king looks on me no more. I grieve for you, but I had
this one alone, and flesh is nearest to flesh. Think you that I shall
escape? I tell you nay. I am but spared for a little, then I go where
the others have gone. Chaka has marked me for the grave; for a little
while I may be left, then I die: he does but play with me as a leopard
plays with a wounded buck. I care not, I am weary, but I grieve for the
boy; there was no such boy in the land. Would that I might die swiftly
and