t even then only in the open, and with groups of armed men constantly
on their steps. If there was any considerable body gathered at the
kraal those composing it must assuredly have kept within the huts;
possibly sleeping off the heaviness of the feast the night before.
Decidedly it was strange to these two, accustomed as they were when
visiting or passing such places to meet with deference at every turn--
now to find themselves actually obliged to obey orders from those over
whom one of them at any rate had partially ruled. But the ruled now
aspired to be the ruling, and, certainly, into far as they themselves
were concerned, had succeeded.

They were threading their way among the huts when, from one of them
there emerged suddenly a man--a black man--but not blacker than his
coat, nor very much blacker than his dingy tie that had once been white.
He had crawled through the low doorway, and stood upright before he was
aware of their presence. The instant he became aware of it he brought
his hand to his mouth with an ejaculation of amazement and dismay, and
stood staring, surprised for the moment out of all self-possession.
Both looked at him--Elvesdon especially--with an expression of aversion
and contempt.

"So!" was all that Elvesdon said.

It seemed difficult to tell on which side the surprise felt was the
greatest. In the fat, greasy features both the white men recognised the
Rev Job Magwegwe, the Ethiopian preacher.

"You not get my letter, sir?" said the latter, hurriedly, eagerly.

"Your letter? Oh, I see," replied Elvesdon.

"I warned you sir; you not take my warning. It not my fault you here,
sir."

"It's damned well your fault there's a `here' for us to be in, and the
fault of those who sent you, you scoundrel," returned Elvesdon bitterly,
and perhaps a little unjustly. For again the self-reproach in not
having taken the warning in time, came uppermost, and here was some one
to vent it on.

"I help you sir--now if I can,"--said the Fingo, earnestly. "But--it
not easy and--"

"_Whau_! Jobo!" cried a great voice as two hulking Zulus came up.
"Here is much white men's talk--too much. Get back to thy preaching--
that is more in thy line. _Whau_!"

They were Zulus from beyond the river, and cared nothing for
missionaries and their methods--let alone for a greasy humbug of an
inferior black man. The Rev Job Magwegwe slunk away before their
great domineering voices and manner. And the two