“So, so!  For that folly alone I deserve to die, for she who would reign”—­and her beautiful eyes flashed royally—­“must have a tiger’s heart, not that of a woman.  Well, because I was too kind I must die; and, after all is said, it is well to die, who go hence awaited by thousands upon thousands that I have sent before me, and who shall be greeted presently by your son, Indhlovu-ene-Sihlonti, and his warriors, greeted as the Inkosazana of Death, with red, lifted spears and with the royal salute!

“Now, I have spoken.  Walk your little road, O King and Prince and Councillors, till you reach the gulf into which I sink, that yawns for all of you.  O King, when you meet me again at the bottom of that gulf, what a tale you will have to tell me, you who are but the shadow of a king, you whose heart henceforth must be eaten out by a worm that is called Love-of-the-Lost.  O Prince and Conqueror Cetewayo, what a tale you will have to tell me when I greet you at the bottom of that gulf, you who will bring your nation to a wreck and at last die as I must die—­only the servant of others and by the will of others.  Nay, ask me not how.  Ask old Zikali, my master, who saw the beginning of your House and will see its end.  Oh, yes, as you say, I am a witch, and I know, I know!  Come, I am spent.  You men weary me, as men have always done, being but fools whom it is so easy to make drunk, and who when drunk are so unpleasing.  Piff!  I am tired of you sober and cunning, and I am tired of you drunken and brutal, you who, after all, are but beasts of the field to whom Mvelingangi, the Creator, has given heads which can think, but which always think wrong.

“Now, King, before you unchain your dogs upon me, I ask one moment.  I said that I hated all men, yet, as you know, no woman can tell the truth—­quite.  There is a man whom I do not hate, whom I never hated, whom I think I love because he would not love me.  He sits there,” and to my utter dismay, and the intense interest of that company, she pointed at me, Allan Quatermain!

“Well, once by my ‘magic,’ of which you have heard so much, I got the better of this man against his will and judgment, and, because of that soft heart of mine, I let him go; yes, I let the rare fish go when he was on my hook.  It is well that I should have let him go, since, had I kept him, a fine story would have been spoiled and I should have become nothing but a white hunter’s servant, to be thrust away behind the door when the white Inkosikazi came to eat his meat—­I, Mameena, who never loved to stand out of sight behind a door.  Well, when he was at my feet and I spared him, he made me a promise, a very small promise, which yet I think he will keep now when we part for a little while.  Macumazahn, did you not promise to kiss me once more upon the lips whenever and wherever I should ask you?”

“I did,” I answered in a hollow voice, for in truth her eyes held me as they had held Saduko.