d with what that of the Amabuna would be,
were these masters of the land. Under this every man could enjoy his
own and be free. And he was free, no man freer. But--under that?
Again. Even if these strange preachers who had come among them with
this poison under their tongues spoke truly; that the tribes were to
combine and drive out the white man--whether Amabuna or Amangisi--what
then? Somebody must be chief. There was no such thing as all men, all
tribes and nations, being equal. The very idea was foolishness. Who
then would be chief. Who then would be king? There was still a son of
the House of Senzangakona alive. And the thinker, for his part,
preferred the rule of the white man to that of the House of
Senzangakona.

All of the above he had put before his people, and that not once only.
But they had turned a deaf ear, or had listened but coldly. The spirit
of unrest coursed high through their blood. The strange preachers were
promising them a great and glorious future--and Babatyana had turned
towards them a favourable ear. Zavula was old, they said among
themselves; Babatyana was in his prime. He knew. He could walk with
the times. The time had come for Zavula to go to sleep. Which sense
may have accounted for the fact that Zavula now sat in his hut alone.

So the old chief sat there, gazing blinkingly into his dying fire,
wondering why he should not be allowed to lay down his old bones in
peace, instead of being hustled by a great crowd of idiots bent on
seeking their own death. Had either or both of his two sons been alive
how different things would have turned. He had taught them sound
commonsense, at any rate, and would have been willing that the
leadership of the tribe should devolve upon them. But Babatyana?
_Whau_, Babatyana!

Now he was roused from his musings by a sound outside. It was the voice
of someone singing--calling to him the tribal _sibongo_, or praise. The
door of the hut was pushed open and a youth crept in, saying that a
stranger craved leave to speak with the chief.

Zavula, though old, and shorn of much of his tribal dignity, had plenty
of the latter left--of a personal character. He did not hurry, and
after a space of full five minutes he intimated that the stranger might
come in.

A man crept in through the low doorway, and raising his right hand gave
the chief _sibongo_. The latter acknowledged it with a murmur, then for
a moment there was silence. The new a