“Ah,” she answered, “I am glad. It would have grieved me had he whom I loved been shown to be but a stranger in whom I have no part,” and she smiled a little in the eyes and at the corners of her mouth. “But tell me this tale also.”
So I told her the tale of the birth of Umslopogaas, for I trusted her.
“Ah,” she said, when I had finished, “ah! you come of a bad stock, Umslopogaas, though it is a kingly one. I shall love you little henceforth, child of the hyena man.”
“Then that is bad news,” said Umslopogaas, “for know, Nada, I desire now that you should love me more than ever—that you should be my wife and love me as your husband!”
Now the Lily’s face grew sad and sweet, and all the hidden mockery went out of her talk—for Nada loved to mock.
“Did you not speak to me on that night in the Halakazi caves, Umslopogaas, of one Zinita, who is your wife, and Inkosikaas of the People of the Axe?”
Then the brow of Umslopogaas darkened: “What of Zinita?” he said. “It is true she is my chieftainess; is it not allowed a man to take more than one wife?”
“So I trust,” answered Nada, smiling, “else men would go unwed for long, for few maids would marry them who then must labour alone all their days. But, Umslopogaas, if there are twenty wives, yet one must be first. Now this has come about hitherto: that wherever I have been it has been thrust upon me to be first, and perhaps it might be thus once more—what then, Umslopogaas?”
“Let the fruit ripen before you pluck it, Nada,” he answered. “If you love me and will wed me, it is enough.”
“I pray that it may not be more than enough,” she said, stretching out her hand to him. “Listen, Umslopogaas: ask my father here what were the words I spoke to him many years ago, before I was a woman, when, with my mother, Macropha, I left him to go among the Swazi people. It was after you had been borne away by the lion, Umslopogaas, I told my father that I would marry no man all my life, because I loved only you, who were dead. My father reproached me, saying that I must not speak thus of my brother, but it was my heart which spoke, and it spoke truly; for see, Umslopogaas, you are no brother to me! I have kept that vow. How many men have sought me in wedlock since I became a woman, Umslopogaas? I tell you that they are as the leaves upon a tree. Yet I have given myself to none, and this has been my fortune: that none have sought to constrain me to marriage. Now I have my reward, for he whom I lost is found again, and to him alone I give my love. Yet, Umslopogaas, beware! Little luck has come to those who have loved me in the past; no, not even to those who have but sought to look on me.”