r and injurious, and the sooner thrown away
the better."

And I would laugh pleasantly at the royal wit, and send _lobola_ for yet
another girl, this one, as before, the daughter of an influential
fighting induna; but, for all that, the loss of Lalusini was none the
less present in my mind, and the desire for my projected vengeance grew,
the longer that vengeance was delayed.

Two things, however, I observed, and these did not look well for my
plot. One was that never now would Umzilikazi commune with me alone as
in the old friendly manner of former days; the other that he never
appeared without a strong body-guard in attendance, fully armed, and
composed of young warriors chosen from houses whose fidelity to the
House of Matyobane was beyond suspicion, they being themselves of that
House. But my time was coming, and that I knew, for the very
desperation and assurance of a man who values not his own life.

There were times when, looking upon the _muti_ bag--Lalusini's last gift
to me, which I ever wore--I felt moved to open it. But her words were
explicit. It was only to be opened in the very last extremity, and such
extremity I felt had not yet been reached. So I forebore.

And now, _Nkose_, there befell one of those occurrences which will
befall even the wisest and coolest and most experienced of any of us
when least we look for it, which are destined to alter all our most
carefully laid plans, for there is ever some moment in life when the
wisest and most carefully thinking man is no better than a fool. And
this is how it came about.

One evening I was walking back, along the river bank, to my kraal,
alone--thinking, as ever, upon my now fast ripening scheme--when I heard
my name called out in a quavering croak. Turning, I beheld the
shrivelled figure of an old crone, perched upon a point of rock
overhanging a long deep reach. Beside her was a bundle of sticks she
had been gathering.

"Give me snuff, Untuswa, O Great Fighter," she cried, stretching out a
bony claw. "Give me snuff from that pretty box stuck in your ear, for I
have none."

I stepped aside, and, taking the horn tube from the lobe of my ear,
poured half its contents into her skinny old hand, and as I did so I
recognised in the old witch one who had an evil repute among us for
_Umtagati_; indeed, it was reported that she had been "smelt out" and
killed in the time of Tshaka, but had somehow managed to come to life
again, and had not been