“For your soul’s sake, woman, repent! repent, ere it be too late!”
“Repent!” she screamed, catching at his words. “Thus do I repent!” and drawing the knife from her girdle, she leant over him and drove it hilt-deep into his breast.
Then with a sudden movement she sprang upwards and outwards into the air, and rushing down through a hundred feet of space, was struck dead upon that very rock where the corpse of Hafela lay.
Now, beneath the agony of the knife Hokosa lifted his head for the last time, crying in a great voice:—
“Messenger, I come, be you my guide,” and with the words his soul passed.
“All is over and ended,” said a voice. “Soldiers, salute the king with the royal salute.”
“Nay,” answered Nodwengo. “Salute me not, salute the Cross and him who hangs thereon.”
So, while the rays of the setting sun shone about it, regiment by regiment that great army rushed past the koppie, and pausing opposite to the cross and its burden, they rendered to it the royal salute of kings.
Then the night fell, and thus through the power of Faith that now, as of old, is the only true and efficient magic, was accomplished the mission to the Sons of Fire of the Saint and Martyr, Thomas Owen, and of his murderer and disciple, the Wizard Hokosa.