“Never mind how it went,” I replied, springing up, for the old wizard’s talk had stirred sad and bitter memories in my heart.  “That time is dead, Zikali.”

“Is it, Macumazahn?  Now, from the look upon your face I should have said that it was still very much alive, as things that happened in our youth have a way of keeping alive.  But doubtless I am mistaken, and it is all as dead as Dingaan, and as Retief, and as the others, your companions.  At least, although you do not believe it, I saved your life on that red day, for my own purposes, of course, not because one white life was anything among so many in my count.  And now go to rest, Macumazahn, go to rest, for although your heart has been awakened by memories this evening, I promise that you shall sleep well to-night,” and throwing the long hair back off his eyes he looked at me keenly, wagging his big head to and fro, and burst into another of his great laughs.

So I went.  But, ah! as I went I wept.

Anyone who knew all that story would understand why.  But this is not the place to tell it, that tale of my first love and of the terrible events which befell us in the time of Dingaan.  Still, as I say, I have written it down, and perhaps one day it will be read.

CHAPTER III

THE BUFFALO WITH THE CLEFT HORN

I slept very well that night, I suppose because I was so dog-tired I could not help it; but next day, on our long walk back to Umbezi’s kraal, I thought a great deal.

Without doubt I had seen and heard very strange things, both of the past and the present—­things that I could not in the least understand.  Moreover, they were mixed up with all sorts of questions of high Zulu policy, and threw a new light upon events that happened to me and others in my youth.

Now, in the clear sunlight, was the time to analyse these things, and this I did in the most logical fashion I could command, although without the slightest assistance from Saduko, who, when I asked him questions, merely shrugged his shoulders.

These questions, he said, did not interest him; I had wished to see the magic of Zikali, and Zikali had been pleased to show me some very good magic, quite of his best indeed.  Also he had conversed alone with me afterwards, doubtless on high matters—­so high that he, Saduko, was not admitted to share the conversation—­which was an honour he accorded to very few.  I could form my own conclusions in the light of the White Man’s wisdom, which everyone knew was great.

I replied shortly that I could, for Saduko’s tone irritated me.  Of course, the truth was that he felt aggrieved at being sent off to bed like a little boy while his foster-father, the old dwarf, made confidences to me.  One of Saduko’s faults was that he had always a very good opinion of himself.  Also he was by nature terribly jealous, even in little things, as the readers of his history, if any, will learn.