The leader of the pursuers, a tall, ill-looking man named ’Ndatyana, took a pace forward and said:
“Ha, Matshaka, son and father of wizards, so we have caught you.”
“Yes, and I am a dead man. Whatever I am, my children are guiltless. Give me but a little time to pray; then do with me what you will, but spare them.”
Matshaka knelt down, clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and turned his face upwards to the sky. His lips moved slightly. The men stood around him without sound or movement. After a short pause he stood up, folded his arms, looked straight into the eyes of ’Ndatyana, and said:
“I am ready.”
For some seconds no one moved. Then, at a nod from the leader, one stepped forward and struck Matshaka a violent blow on the head with a club. He fell heavily to the ground, and in a few seconds all was over.
The little congregation went back into the church, and soon the strains of a hymn arose. When this had ceased, the minister offered up a fervent prayer to the Lord that He might show mercy and forgiveness to those who thus ignorantly slew His servants.
By this time ’Ndatyana and his men were out of sight, so the male members of the congregation, headed by the minister, who carried a large white sheet, wended slowly to where the body lay. Then with reverent hands they lifted it from the ground and bore it into the church. They laid it, bleeding, in front of the little communion table at which they had so recently celebrated the Lord’s Supper.
And every one there knew it to be an acceptable offering.