host Mountain. Umslopogaas had no more words with Zinita, but she
always watched him, and he went heavily. For he awaited Nada, and Nada
did not come.

But at length Nada came.

CHAPTER XXX. THE COMING OF NADA

One night--it was a night of full moon--I sat alone with Umslopogaas
in my hut, and we spoke of the matter of our plots; then, when we had
finished that talk, we spoke of Nada the Lily.

"Alas! my uncle," said Umslopogaas sadly, "we shall never look more on
Nada; she is surely dead or in bonds, otherwise she had been here
long ago. I have sought far and wide, and can hear no tidings and find
nothing."

"All that is hidden is not lost," I answered, yet I myself believed that
there was an end of Nada.

Then we were silent awhile, and presently, in the silence, a dog barked.
We rose, and crept out of the hut to see what it might be that stirred,
for the night drew on, and it was needful to be wary, since a dog might
bark at the stirring of a leaf, or perhaps it might be the distant
footfall of an impi that it heard.

We had not far to look, for standing gazing at the huts, like one who is
afraid to call, was a tall slim man, holding an assegai in one hand
and a little shield in the other. We could not see the face of the man,
because the light was behind him, and a ragged blanket hung about his
shoulders. Also, he was footsore, for he rested on one leg. Now we
were peering round the hut, and its shadow hid us, so that the man saw
nothing. For awhile he stood still, then he spoke to himself, and his
voice was strangely soft.

"Here are many huts," said the voice, "now how may I know which is the
house of my brother? Perhaps if I call I shall bring soldiers to me, and
be forced to play the man before them, and I am weary of that. Well, I
will lie here under the fence till morning; it is a softer bed than
some I have found, and I am word out with travel--sleep I must," and the
figure sighed and turned so that the light of the moon fell full upon
its face.

My father, it was the face of Nada, my daughter, whom I had not seen for
so many years, yet across the years I knew it at once; yes, though the
bud had become a flower I knew it. The face was weary and worn, but ah!
it was beautiful, never before nor since have I seen such beauty, for
there was this about the loveliness of my daughter, the Lily: it seemed
to flow from within--yes, as light will flow through the thin rind of a
gourd, and in that she di