sed,
and the women, parting into two companies, the whole _impi_ moved
forward again, marching between them.

The huge kraal was very near now, the palisade lined with the faces of
eager spectators. But Laurence, quick to take in impressions, noticed
that here there were no severed heads stuck about in ghastly ornament.
This splendid race, as pitiless and unsparing in victory as it was
intrepid in the field, was clearly above the more monstrous and
revolting forms of savage barbarity. Then all further reflections were
diverted into an entirely new channel, for the whole _impi_--tossing the
unarmed right hand aloft--thundered aloud the salute royal, then fell
prostrate:

"_Bayete!_"

The roar--sudden, and as one man--of that multitude of voices was
startling, well-nigh terrifying. Laurence, unprepared for any such move,
found himself standing there--he alone, erect--while around him, as so
much mown corn, lay prostrate on their faces this immense company of
armed warriors. Then he took in the reason.

Just in front of where the _impi_ had halted rose a small cluster of
trees crowning a knoll. Beneath the shade thus formed was a group of
men, in a half-squatting, half-crouching attitude--all save one.

Yes. One alone was standing--standing a little in advance of the
group--standing tall, erect, majestic--in a splendid attitude of ease
and dignity, as, with head thrown slightly back, he darted his clear
expressive eyes proudly over the bending host. A man in the prime of
life--a perfect embodiment of symmetry and strength--he wore no attempt
at gew-gaws or meretricious adornment. His shaven head was crowned with
the usual _isicoco_, or ring, whose jetty blackness seemed to render the
rich copper hue of the smooth skin even lighter, and for all clothing he
wore a _mutya_ of lion-skin and leopards' tails. Yet Laurence
Stanninghame, gazing upon him, recognized a natural dignity--nay, a
majesty enthroning this nearly naked savage such as he had never seen
quite equalled in the aspect or deportment of any other living man.
Clearly this was the king--Tyisandhlu--"The Strong Wind that burns from
the North." Removing his hat with one hand he raised the other above
his head, and repeated the salute royal as he had heard it from the
warriors.

The king acknowledged his greeting by a brief murmur. Then he called
aloud:

"Rise up, my children."

As one man that huge assembly sprang to its feet,--and the quivering
rattle of