so, and she fixed her dying eyes on the splendour
of the morning sky. She looked on me and smiled as an angel might
smile. Then with a last effort she lifted her hand, and, pointing to the
radiant heavens, whispered:

"_There, Allan, there!_"

It was done, and I was broken-hearted, and broken-hearted I must wander
to the end. Those who have endured my loss will know my sorrow; it
cannot be written. In such peace and at such an hour may I also die!

Yes, it is a sad story, but wander where we will about the world we can
never go beyond the sound of the passing bell. For me, as for my father
before me, and for the millions who have been and who shall be, there is
but one word of comfort. "The Lord hath given, and the Lord hath taken
away." Let us, then, bow our heads in hope, and add with a humble heart,
"Blessed be the name of the Lord."

I buried her by her father's side, and the weeping of the people who had
loved her went up to heaven. Even Indaba-zimbi wept, but I could weep no
more.

On the second night from her burial I could not sleep. I rose, dressed
myself, and went out into the night. The moon was shining brightly,
and by its rays I shaped my course towards the graveyard. I drew near
silently, and as I came I thought that I heard a sound of moaning on the
further side of the wall. I looked over it. Crouched by Stella's grave,
and tearing at its sods with her hands, as though she would unearth that
which lay within, was _Hendrika_. Her face was wild and haggard, her
form was so emaciated that when the pelts she wore slipped aside, the
shoulder-blades seemed to project almost through her skin. Suddenly she
looked up and saw me. Laughing a dreadful maniac laugh, she put her hand
to her girdle and drew her great knife from it. I thought that she was
about to attack me, and prepared to defend myself as I best could, for I
was unarmed. But she made no effort to do so. Lifting the knife on high,
for a moment she held it glittering in the moonlight, then plunged it
into her own breast, and fell headlong to the ground.

I sprang over the wall and ran to her. She was not yet dead. Presently
she opened her eyes, and I saw that the madness had gone out of them.

"Macumazahn," she said, speaking in English and in an thick difficult
voice like one who half forgot and half remembered--"Macumazahn, I
remember now. I have been mad. Is she really dead, Macumazahn?"

"Yes," I said, "she is dead, and you killed her."