A figure rose, a draped figure whose face was hidden in a hood of blanket. It came forward, and as it came it drew the blanket tighter about it. Rachel, watching all things, saw, or thought she saw, that one of its hands was white as though it had been burned with fire. Surely she had seen such a hand before.
“Speak,” she said.
“Name me by my name and tell me who I am and I will obey thee,” answered the man.
Then she was sure, for she remembered the voice. She looked at him indifferently and asked:
“By what name shall I name you, O Slayer of a King? Will you be called Mopo or Umbopa, who have borne them both?”
Now Dingaan stared, and the shrouded form before her started as though in surprise.
“Why do you seek to mock me?” she went on. “Can a blanket of bark hide that face of yours from these eyes of mine which saw it a while ago at Ramah, when you came thither to judge of me, O Mouth of the King?”
Now the man let the blanket slip from his head and looked at her.
“It seems that it cannot,” he answered. “Then I told thee that I had dreamed of the Spirit of our people, and that thou, White One, wast like to her of whom I had dreamed. Canst thou tell me what was the fashion of that dream of mine?”
Now Rachel understood that notwithstanding his words at Ramah, this man still doubted her, and was set up to prove her, and all that Noie had told her about him and the secret history of the Zulus came back into her mind.