“You know well that he lives, Macumazahn, for how could he die till his work was accomplished? Moreover, you will remember that he spoke to you when last moon was but just past her full—in a dream, Macumazahn. I brought that dream, although you did not see me.”
“Pish!” I exclaimed. “Have done with your talk of dreams. Who thinks anything of dreams?”
“You do,” she replied even more placidly than before, “you whom that dream has brought hither—with others.”
“You lie,” I said rudely. “The Basutos brought me here.”
“The Watcher-by-Night is pleased to say that I lie, so doubtless I do lie,” she answered, her fixed smile deepening a little. Then she folded her arms across her breast and remained silent.
“You are a messenger, O seer of pictures in the dust and bearer of the cup of dreams,” I said with sarcasm. “Who sends a message by your lips for me, and what are the words of the message?”
“My Lords the Spirits spoke the message by the mouth of the master Zikali. He sends it on to you by the lips of your servant, the doctoress Nombé.”
“Are you indeed a doctoress, being so young?” I asked, for somehow I wished to postpone the hearing of that message.
“O Macumazahn, I have heard the call, I have felt the pain in my back, I have drunk of the black medicine and of the white medicine, yes, for a whole year. I have been visited by the multitude of Spirits and seen the shades of those who live and of those who are dead. I have dived into the river and drawn my snake from its mud; see, its skin is about me now,” and opening the mantle she wore she showed what looked like the skin of a black mamba, fastened round her slender body. “I have dwelt in the wilderness alone and listened to its voices. I have sat at the feet of my master, the Opener of Roads, and looked down the road and drunk of his wisdom. Yes, I am in truth a doctoress.”
“Well, after all this, you should be as wise as you are pretty.”