Presently Scowl left the hut to prepare me some broth, whereon Saduko at once turned the talk to this subject of Mameena.

He understood that I had seen her.  Did I not think her very beautiful?

“Yes, very beautiful,” I answered; “indeed, the most beautiful Zulu woman I have ever seen.”

And very clever—­almost as clever as a white?

“Yes, and very clever—­much cleverer than most whites.”

And—­anything else?

“Yes; very dangerous, and one who could turn like the wind and blow hot and blow cold.”

“Ah!” he said, thought a while, then added:  “Well, what do I care how she blows to others, so long as she blows hot to me.”

“Well, Saduko, and does she blow hot for you?”

“Not altogether, Macumazahn.”  Another pause.  “I think she blows rather like the wind before a great storm.”

“That is a biting wind, Saduko, and when we feel it we know that the storm will follow.”

“I dare say that the storm will follow, Inkoosi, for she was born in a storm and storm goes with her; but what of that, if she and I stand it out together?  I love her, and I had rather die with her than live with any other woman.”

“The question is, Saduko, whether she would rather die with you than live with any other man.  Does she say so?”

“Inkoosi, Mameena’s thought works in the dark; it is like a white ant in its tunnel of mud.  You see the tunnel which shows that she is thinking, but you do not see the thought within.  Still, sometimes, when she believes that no one beholds or hears her”—­here I bethought me of the young lady’s soliloquy over my apparently senseless self—­“or when she is surprised, the true thought peeps out of its tunnel.  It did so the other day, when I pleaded with her after she had heard that I killed the buffalo with the cleft horn.

“‘Do I love you?’ she said.  ’I know not for sure.  How can I tell?  It is not our custom that a maiden should love before she is married, for if she did so most marriages would be things of the heart and not of cattle, and then half the fathers of Zululand would grow poor and refuse to rear girl-children who would bring them nothing.  You are brave, you are handsome, you are well-born; I would sooner live with you than with any other man I know—­that is, if you were rich and, better still, powerful.  Become rich and powerful, Saduko, and I think that I shall love you.’

“‘I will, Mameena,’ I answered; ’but you must wait.  The Zulu nation was not fashioned from nothing in a day.  First Chaka had to come.’

“‘Ah!’ she said, and, my father, her eyes flashed.  ’Ah!  Chaka!  There was a man!  Be another Chaka, Saduko, and I will love you more—­more than you can dream of—­thus and thus,’ and she flung her arms about me and kissed me as I was never kissed before, which, as you know, among us is a strange thing for a girl to do.  Then she thrust me from her with a laugh, and added:  ’As for the waiting, you must ask my father of that.  Am I not his heifer, to be sold, and can I disobey my father?’ And she was gone, leaving me empty, for it seemed as though she took my vitals with her.  Nor will she talk thus any more, the white ant who has gone back into its tunnel.”