“But you will like all the cattle and new wives your share of this will bring you, son of Musi,” said Fleetwood with a laugh. “If it is tagati it is pretty good tagati for us three, this time anyhow. Well, the sun will soon be down, and I think we had better take a short rest and travel by moonlight. It will be safer.”
This was agreed to, and as the red moon raised her great disc above the lone mountain range, flooding forest and valley and rock with her chastened brilliance, two ragged, unkempt white men stepped forth on their return journey, and upon them was wealth surpassing their highest expectations.
“Hang it all, I can’t believe it yet,” said Wyvern, for the twentieth time, with the twentieth grip on the bags of gems disposed about his clothing.
“I can hardly believe it myself,” rejoined Fleetwood, going through precisely the same performance.
But Hlabulana, the Zulu, said nothing. He only took snuff as calmly as if nothing had happened.
Chapter Thirty.
“In the Morning.”
Probably there is no greater fallacy than that youth is quick to cast off impressions; otherwise Lalanté with youth in her favour, should, after the first few days from the shock which had smitten her down, have begun to rally, and to realise that there was something left in life after all. But she did not.