“Because I hate you,” answered the man, “who to-morrow will take my place and the wife I love.”
“As a year or two ago you took someone else’s place, eh? Well, suppose now that I don’t want either your place or your wife.”
“What would that matter even it if were true, white man, since she wants you?”
“I am thinking, friend, that there is someone else she will want when she hears of this. How do you suppose that you will die to-morrow? Not so easily as you hope, perhaps.”
The Mungana’s eyes seemed to sink into his head, and his face to sicken with terror. That shaft had gone home.
“Suppose I make a bargain with you,” went on Alan slowly. “Supposing I say: ‘Mungana, show me the way out of this place, as you can, now at once. Or if you prefer it, refuse and be given up to the Asika?’ Come, you are not too mad to understand. Answer—and quickly.”
“Would you kill me afterwards?” he asked.
“Not I. Why should I wish to kill you? You can come with us and go where you will. Or you can stay here and die as the Asika directs.”
“I cannot believe you, white man. It is not possible that you should wish to run away from so much love and glory, or to spare one who would have slain you. Also it would be difficult to get you out of Bonsa Town.”
“Jeekie,” said Alan, “this fellow is mad after all, I think you had better go to the door and shout for the priests.”