“But will he come to love me again?”
Hokosa shrugged his shoulders.
“I know not,” he answered; “that is for you to see to. Yet this is sure, that if a tree grows up before the house of a man, shutting it off from the sunlight, when that tree is cut down the sun shines upon his house again.”
“It is nothing to the sun on what he shines,” said the woman.
“If the saying does not please you, then forget it. I promise you this and no more, that very soon the man shall cease to turn to your rival.”
“The medicine will not harm her?” asked the woman doubtfully. “She has worked me bitter wrong indeed, yet she is my sister, whom I nursed when she was little, and I do not wish to do her hurt. If only he will welcome me back and treat me kindly, I am willing even that she should dwell on beneath my husband’s roof, bearing his children, for will they not be of my own blood?”
“Woman,” answered Hokosa impatiently, “you weary me with your talk. Did I say that the charm would hurt her? I said that it would cause your husband to hate the sight of her. Now begone, taking or leaving it, and let me rest. If your mind is troubled, throw aside that medicine, and go soothe it with such sights as you saw last night.”
On hearing this the woman sprang up, hid away the poison in her hair, and taking her basket of fruit, passed from the kraal as secretly as she had entered it.
“Why did you give her death-medicine?” asked Noma of Hokosa, as he stood staring after her. “Have you a hate to satisfy against the husband or the girl who is her rival?”
“None,” he answered, “for they have never crossed my path. Oh, foolish woman! cannot you read my plan?”