“Into this stone,” he said, holding up the white pebble so that the light from the fire shone on it—­since, save for the lingering red glow, it was now growing dark—­“into this stone I am about to draw your spirit, O Macumazana; and into this one”—­and he held up the black pebble—­“yours, O Son of Matiwane.  Why do you look frightened, O brave White Man, who keep saying in your heart, ’He is nothing but an ugly old Kafir cheat’?  If I am a cheat, why do you look frightened?  Is your spirit already in your throat, and does it choke you, as this little stone might do if you tried to swallow it?” and he burst into one of his great, uncanny laughs.

I tried to protest that I was not in the least frightened, but failed, for, in fact, I suppose my nerves were acted on by his suggestion, and I did feel exactly as though that stone were in my throat, only coming upwards, not going downwards.  “Hysteria,” thought I to myself, “the result of being overtired,” and as I could not speak, sat still as though I treated his gibes with silent contempt.

“Now,” went on the dwarf, “perhaps I shall seem to die; and if so do not touch me lest you should really die.  Wait till I wake up again and tell you what your spirits have told me.  Or if I do not wake up—­for a time must come when I shall go on sleeping—­well—­for as long as I have lived—­after the fires are quite out, not before, lay your hands upon my breast; and if you find me turning cold, get you gone to some other Nyanga as fast as the spirits of this place will let you, O ye who would peep into the future.”

As he spoke he threw a big handful of the roots that I have mentioned on to each of the fires, whereon tall flames leapt up from them, very unholy-looking flames which were followed by columns of dense, white smoke that emitted a most powerful and choking odour quite unlike anything that I had ever smelt before.  It seemed to penetrate all through me, and that accursed stone in my throat grew as large as an apple and felt as though someone were poking it upwards with a stick.

Next he threw the white pebble into the right-hand fire, that which was opposite to me, saying: 

“Enter, Macumazahn, and look,” and the black pebble he threw into the left-hand fire saying:  “Enter, Son of Matiwane, and look.  Then come back both of you and make report to me, your master.”

Now it is a fact that as he said these words I experienced a sensation as though a stone had come out of my throat; so readily do our nerves deceive us that I even thought it grated against my teeth as I opened my mouth to give it passage.  At any rate the choking was gone, only now I felt as though I were quite empty and floating on air, as though I were not I, in short, but a mere shell of a thing, all of which doubtless was caused by the stench of those burning roots.  Still I could look and take note, for I distinctly saw Zikali thrust his huge head, first into the smoke