n which it was
spoken, that seemed quite different from Zikali's, caused everyone who
heard it, including myself, I am afraid, to gasp and shiver) the King
sprang from his stool as though to put a stop to such doctoring. Then,
after his fashion, he changed his mind and sat down again. But Zikali,
taking no heed, went to the third set of marks and studied them.

"It would seem," he said, "that I am awakened from sleep in my Black
House yonder to tell of a very little matter, that might well have been
dealt with by any common Nyanga born but yesterday. Well, I have taken
my fee, and I will earn it, although I thought that I was brought here
to speak of great matters, such as the death of princes and the fortunes
of peoples. Is it desired that my Spirit should speak of wizardries in
this town of Nodwengu?"

"Izwa!" said the chorus in a loud voice.

Zikali nodded his great head and seemed to talk with the dust, waiting
now and again for an answer.

"Good," he said; "they are many, and the dust has told them all to me.
Oh, they are very many"--and he glared around him--"so many that if I
spoke them all the hyenas of the hills would be full to-night--"

Here the audience began to show signs of great apprehension.

"But," looking down at the dust and turning his head sideways, "what
do you say, what do you say? Speak more plainly, Little Voices, for you
know I grow deaf. Oh! now I understand. The matter is even smaller than
I thought. Just of one wizard--"

"Izwa!" (loudly).

"--just of a few deaths and some sicknesses."

"Izwa!"

"Just of one death, one principal death."

"Izwa!" (very loudly).

"Ah! So we have it--one death. Now, was it a man?"

"Izwa!" (very coldly).

"A woman?"

"Izwa!" (still more coldly).

"Then a child? It must be a child, unless indeed it is the death of a
spirit. But what do you people know of spirits? A child! A child! Ah!
you hear me--a child. A male child, I think. Do you not say so, O Dust?"

"Izwa!" (emphatically).

"A common child? A bastard? The son of nobody?"

"Izwa!" (very low).

"A well-born child? One who would have been great? O Dust, I hear, I
hear; a royal child, a child in whom ran the blood of the Father of the
Zulus, he who was my friend? The blood of Senzangakona, the blood of the
'Black One,' the blood of Panda."

He stopped, while both from the chorus and from the thousands of the
circle gathered around went up one roar of "Izwa!" emphasised by a
might