No more would the old man tell, and so I left him, pondering greatly over these things as I went. And it seemed to me that the air was dark with sorcery and magic, and that snares lay spread all around, lurking for the steps of him who should tread unwarily; and, indeed, this was so, for the old Mosutu’s foresight was no mere empty frothing, but of portentous weight, as, indeed, were all his utterances.
While these things were in progress, Nkose, the white priest was absent from Kwa’zingwenya; for since the day of his interference at the Pool of the Alligators, the King chose, when possible, to find some pretext for removing him to a distance what time evil-doers were to die the death. For if the stranger were again to interfere, he, too, must die, for it would be impossible to overlook such rebellion a second time, even from a white man. Now, Umzilikazi did not desire his death, wherefore he would direct that some should lure the stranger to a distant kraal, on the pretence that certain people there were eager to listen to his teaching, all in accordance with the crafty scheme which had kept him from pursuing his journey to the south, and rendered him content to remain among us. And, no matter what the weather, no matter how great his own fatigue, upon receiving such a call, the white priest would start immediately, through heat or cold or storm, though the rivers were in flood or sickness lurked in the low-lying swamps. So it had been in this instance; and not until several days had gone by since the death of Nangeza did he return, weary with travel, and sad that his teachings should be of so small avail.
But very much more sad was he on learning of the disappearance of Kwelanga, and he wept, that white isanusi; for he loved the little one, who, after all, was of his own colour, the only one of such among us. And he, like ourselves, doubted not but that she had been slain and devoured by wild beasts. Yet, loudly did he give thanks to the King who had permitted him to perform the water-rite over her; since by this, he said, though her body were dead, her spirit should live in happiness forever. And we, hearing these words, glanced at one another with meaning. Did they not accord with Lalusini’s saying, that again should Kwelanga’s voice be heard, though with a warning, forasmuch that not for ill had we saved her alive when all others were slain?
Now, although this white priest had declared in a friendly manner towards old Masuka, and, indeed, showed no enmity towards our own izanusi, his mind seemed evil towards Lalusini. Her he could never be brought to regard with over-great friendliness, but yet was guarded in his utterances; and, while he looked upon her coldly, said naught against her. But she, for her part, in nowise seemed to return his manner, for she ever spake softly and kindly to him—even as she did to all—but in a way as though she herself were too great to feel enmity or ill-will to such small things as those around her. And this, indeed, was partly true.
Chapter Twenty.
Dreams—New and Great.
Now, time went by, and of Lalusini I saw nothing, nor could I find opportunity of speaking with her alone. I was greatly troubled in mind, too; for I thought the King desired her—he who cared not usually about women—and my days were heavy and my dreams dark.
We were seated alone, the King and I. We had been talking over many things, as our way was; for Umzilikazi seemed to trust me more and more, till it was whispered that I had become the most powerful man in the nation, young as I was—more powerful than Mcumbete, the chief induna, or even than Kalipe, the commander of the army. As we sat thus, the King said—