“Then cause some other to give it and let him bear the blame,” suggested Noma languidly.
Hokosa made no answer, but walking to the gate of the kraal, which was open, he leaned against it lost in thought. As he stood thus he saw a woman advancing towards him, who carried on her head a small basket of fruit, and knew her for one of those whose business it was to wait upon the Messenger in his huts, or rather in his house, for by now he had built himself a small house, and near it a chapel. This woman saw Hokosa also and looked at him sideways, as though she would like to stop and speak to him, but feared to do so.
“Good morrow to you, friend,” he said. “How goes it with your husband and your house?”
Now Hokosa knew well that this woman’s husband had taken a dislike to her and driven her from his home, filling her place with one younger and more attractive. At the question the woman’s lips began to tremble, and her eyes swam with tears.
“Ah! great doctor,” she said, “why do you ask me of my husband? Have you not heard that he has driven me away and that another takes my place?”
“Do I hear all the gossip of this town?” asked Hokosa, with a smile. “But come in and tell me the story; perchance I may be able to help you, for I have charms to compel the fancy of such faithless ones.”
The woman looked round, and seeing that there was no one in sight, she slipped swiftly through the gate of the kraal, which he closed behind her.
“Noma,” said Hokosa, “here is one who tells me that her husband has deserted her, and who comes to seek my counsel. Bring her milk to drink.”
“There are some wives who would not find that so great an evil,” replied Noma mockingly, as she rose to do his bidding.
Hokosa winced at the sarcasm, and turning to his visitor, said:—