The sun was up by the time she reached her objective. The kraal lay peaceful in the early morning; the great double ring fence, and from some of the yellow, domed huts blue smoke was rising. Yet it seemed to her that the place was deserted. It was the hour of milking, yet no cattle were to be seen, and there were few people about. What did it mean? What could it mean?
And now, for the first time, an instinct came upon her, an instinct as of some harm pending. Had she done right to come? Was this part of some sinister plan? and were those who distrusted Sapazani more completely “in the know” than they two? She paused, irresolute. But it was too late to turn back now. The man who had kept pace with her all the way had grasped her bridle rein and was inviting her to dismount.
“Yonder. The chief,” he said, when she had done so.
The space immediately surrounding the kraal was open save for a small clump of spreading mimosas. In the shade of this Sapazani was seated, with three or four other ringed men in attendance. That her arrival was expected was obvious, for a wooden pillow, covered with a clean, new rug, to serve as a seat, had been placed for her. Knowing their ways, she greeted Sapazani in the usual pleasant and cordial style and sat down to talk—outwardly as careless as when they last met, inwardly her whole soul raging with eager impatience.
“And he who is lost?” she said at last. “He is found?”
“He is found.”
Her joy and thankfulness knew no bounds, and she was hardly conscious of the withdrawal of those around the chief.
“What is for two ears is not for eight,” went on the latter. “I have a word to you, Izibu.”
“That is why I am here,” she answered, with a smile. “And him of whom I came to learn tidings?”
“Of him we will presently talk,” answered Sapazani. “Talk we now of myself. I am in need of a new inkosikazi (principal wife), and her I shall take from among the daughters of the white people.”