Three days after our wedding Mr. Carson had a stroke. It had been long impending, now it fell. We came into the centre hut to dinner and found him lying speechless on the couch. At first I thought that he was dying, but this was not so. On the contrary, within four days he recovered his speech and some power of movement. But he never recovered his memory, though he still knew Stella, and sometimes myself. Curiously enough he remembered little Tota best of all three, though occasionally he thought that she was his own daughter in her childhood, and would ask her where her mother was. This state of affairs lasted for some seven months. The old man gradually grew weaker, but he did not die. Of course his condition quite precluded the idea of our leaving Babyan Kraals till all was over. This was the more distressing to me because I had a nervous presentiment that Stella was incurring danger by staying there, and also because the state of her health rendered it desirable that we should reach a civilized region as soon as possible. However, it could not be helped.
At length the end came very suddenly. We were sitting one evening by Mr. Carson’s bedside in his hut, when to our astonishment he sat up and spoke in a strong, full voice.
“I hear you,” he said. “Yes, yes, I forgive you. Poor woman! you too have suffered,” and he fell back dead.
I have little doubt that he was addressing his lost wife, some vision of whom had flashed across his dying sense. Stella, of course, was overwhelmed with grief at her loss. Till I came her father had been her sole companion, and therefore, as may be imagined, the tie between them was much closer than is usual even in the case of father and daughter. So deeply did she mourn that I began to fear for the effect upon her health. Nor were we the only ones to grieve; all the natives on the settlement called Mr. Carson “father,” and as a father they lamented him. The air resounded with the wailing of women, and the men went about with bowed heads, saying that “the sun had set in the heavens, now only the Star (Stella) remained.” Indaba-zimbi alone did not mourn. He said that it was best that the Inkoos should die, for what was life worth when one lay like a log?—moreover, that it would have been well for all if he had died sooner.
On the following day we buried him in the little graveyard near the waterfall. It was a sad business, and Stella cried very much, in spite of all I could do to comfort her.
That night as I sat outside the hut smoking—for the weather was hot, and Stella was lying down inside—old Indaba-zimbi came up, saluted, and squatted at my feet.
“What is it, Indaba-zimbi?” I said.
“This, Macumazahn. When are you going to trek towards the coast?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “The Star is not fit to travel now, we must wait awhile.”
“No, Macumazahn, you must not wait, you must go, and the Star must take her chance. She is strong. It is nothing. All will be well.”