e well to grieve aloud, because the Mother of the
Heavens is no more, and ill wouldst thou have done to grieve because
the fire from above has kissed thy gates. For hadst thou done this last
thing or left the first undone, I should have known that thy heart was
wicked, and by now thou wouldst have wept indeed--tears of blood, Mopo.
It is well for thee, then, that thou hast read my riddle aright."

Now I saw the depths of the pit that Chaka had dug for me, and blessed
my Ehlose who had put into my heart those words which I should answer.
I hoped also that Chaka would now let me go; but it was not to be, for
this was but the beginning of my trial.

"Knowest thou, Mopo," said the king, "that as my mother died yonder in
the flames of thy kraal she cried out strange and terrible words which
came to my ears through the singing of the fire. These were her words:
that thou, Mopo, and thy sister Baleka, and thy wives, had conspired
together to give a child to me who would be childless. These were her
words, the words that came to me through the singing of the fire. Tell
me now, Mopo, where are those children that thou leddest from thy kraal,
the boy with the lion eyes who is named Umslopogaas, and the girl who is
named Nada?"

"Umslopogaas is dead by the lion's mouth, O king!" I answered, "and Nada
sits in the Swazi caves." And I told him of the death of Umslopogaas and
of how I had divorced Macropha, my wife.

"The boy with the lion eyes to the lion's mouth!" said Chaka. "Enough
of him; he is gone. Nada may yet be sought for with the assegai in
the Swazi caves; enough of her. Let us speak of this song that my
mother--who, alas! is dead, Mopo--this song she sang through the singing
of the flames. Tell me, Mopo, tell me now, was it a true tale."

"Nay, O king! surely the Mother of the Heavens was maddened by the
Heavens when she sang that song," I answered. "I know nothing of it, O
king."

"Thou knowest naught of it, Mopo?" said the king. And again he looked
at me terribly through the reek of the fire. "Thou knowest naught of it,
Mopo? Surely thou art a-cold; thy hands shake with cold. Nay, man, fear
not--warm them, warm them, Mopo. See, now, plunge that hand of thine
into the heart of the flame!" And he pointed with his little assegai,
the assegai handled with the royal wood, to where the fire glowed
reddest--ay, he pointed and laughed.

Then, my father, I grew cold indeed--yes, I grew cold who soon should
be hot, for I