I not? And I am come to sleep at your kraal, for Kwabulazi
is another stage away, and it is night, and my horse is dead lame."

Nxala, taking in the situation, was beside himself with inward rage,
which, in fact, had got nearly to that pitch where the Machiavellian
caution of the savage is apt to forget, and lose itself in an outburst
of uncontrolled, unthinking blood lust. But he had not overlooked the
fact that the new arrival had, slung around him, a remarkably
business-like revolver. No, the time was not yet.

A dozen armed savages, lying in wait in the dark bush shadows a little
way beyond Zavula's kraal, had sprung up at the first words of the new
war-song, which was to be the signal, but subsided again at the sound of
the approaching horse-hoofs. Now, after a muttered consultation, they
withdrew to a distance to await their leader's reappearance and
instructions. But there was an armed white man, and he an official,
sleeping at Zavula's kraal, which made all the difference.

Twice that night the life of the chief of the Amahluzi had hung on a
hair. It was saved--for the present.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"GOOD NIGHT, ZAVULA!"

Elvesdon was seated in his inner office, busied with his ordinary
routine work. It was afternoon and hot, and he had thrown off his coat
and waistcoat, and sat in his shirt and light duck trousers smoking a
pipe of excellent Magaliesberg. Court was over, he had disposed of the
few cases, mostly of a trumpery nature, before lunch, and now the office
work was not of a particularly engrossing character; wherefore perhaps
it was not strange that his thoughts should go back to his Sunday visit,
which, of course, spelt Edala Thornhill.

The worst of it was she had been occupying his thoughts of late, and
that even when he had seen her but once. Now he had seen her twice--had
spent a whole day in her society. And she was occupying his thoughts
more than ever. Yet--why?

He was not in his first youth, nor was she the first of the other sex he
had been interested in. He had had experiences, as a fine,
well-looking, well set up man of his stamp was bound to have had. Yet
the image of this girl had stamped itself upon his mind in a way that
the image of no one else had ever been able to do for years; since what
he pleasantly liked to term to himself--his salad days. And he did not
know what to make of this interest. It was not even budding love--he
told himself--only a strong inte