“Whau! My heart is sick, for there are some who think I have lived too long. It may be that they are right. And—they are of my children too.”
There was infinite pathos in the tone, as the speaker dropped his glance sorrowfully down to the object before him. Elvesdon’s interest kindled vividly. He began to see through the situation now.
“There is death in this,” went on the old chief touching the bowl. “I would like Udokotela to examine it.”
“Leave it with me, Zavula, and I will take care that he does. It will be safe here.”
He unlocked a cupboard and stowed away the vessel carefully. “Now—who is it that thinks their chief has lived too long, Zavula?”
“Au! That will become known. But the time is not yet. What I have shown Nkose is between him and Udokotela.”
Elvesdon promised to respect his confidence and the old man got up to leave. Would he not eat and drink? No. The sun would have dropped before he reached his kraal, and he liked not being abroad in the dark hours. Perhaps he was too old, he added with a whimsical smile. Another day, when he should come over to hear the word of Udokotela as to the hidden múti then he would have more time.
Elvesdon and the clerk stood watching the forms of the old chief and his one scarcely less aged attendant, as they receded up the valley.
“That’s a grand old boy, Prior,” said the former. “A dear old boy. If we had a few more of his sort around here we needn’t have bothered ourselves about the lively times that any fool can see are sticking out ahead of us.”