e down also, and
we wept long and bitterly in one another's arms.

By this time she had become a convert to Christianity, but this was
entirely a matter of her own seeking. She had such implicit belief in my
wisdom and knowledge, that she begged me to tell her all about my
religion in order that she might adopt it as her own. Like most
converts, she was filled with fiery zeal and enthusiasm, and tried to
soften the approaching terror by telling me she was quite happy at the
thought of going, because she would be able to look after me even more
than in the past. "How different it would have been with me," she used
to say, "had I remained with my old tribe. I should still be under the
belief that when I died my highest state would be to be turned into an
animal; but now I know that a glorious future awaits us, and that in due
time you will join me in heaven."

Yamba did not suffer any physical pain, nor was she actually confined to
her bed until four days before her death. As the various tribes knew the
love and admiration I had for her, the fact that she lay dying spread
rapidly, and crowds of natives flocked to my mountain home.

Widespread sympathy was expressed for me; and all kinds of tender
consideration were evinced by these savages. All day long an incessant
stream of women-folk kept coming to the hut and inquiring after my dying
wife.

It seemed to be Yamba's sole anxiety that I should be well equipped for
the journey back to civilisation. She would rehearse with me for hours
the various methods adopted by the black-fellows to find water; and she
reminded me that my course at first was to be in a southerly direction
until I came to a region where the trees were blazed, and then I was to
follow the track that led westward. She had elicited this information
for me from the blacks with remarkable acuteness.

These last days seemed to pass very quickly, and one night the dying
woman had a serious relapse. Hitherto she had always addressed me as
"Master," but now that she stood in the Valley of the Shadow she would
throw her arms about my neck and whisper softly, "Good-bye, _my husband_.
Good-bye, I am going--going--going. I will wait for you--there."

For myself I could not seem to realise it. Sometimes I would rise up
with the sole intention of finding out whether this frightful thing was
or was not a ghastly dream. Then my memory would go back over the long
years, and every little instance of unse