In a moment, as though at a signal, the voices died away.  Then other things happened.  To begin with I felt very faint, as though all the strength were being taken out of me.  Some queer fancy got a hold of me.  I don’t quite know what it was, but it had to do with the Bible story of Adam when he fell asleep and a rib was removed from him and made into a woman.  I reflected that I felt as Adam must have done when he came out of his trance after this terrific operation, very weak and empty.  Also, as it chanced, presently I saw Eve—­or rather a woman.  Looking at the fire in a kind of disembodied way, I perceived that dense smoke was rising from it, which smoke spread itself out like a fan.  It thinned by degrees, and through the veil of smoke I perceived something else, namely, a woman very like one whom once I had known.  There she stood, lightly clad enough, her fingers playing with the blue beads of her necklace, an inscrutable smile upon her face and her large eyes fixed on nothingness.

Oh!  Heaven, I knew her, or rather thought I did at the moment, for now I am almost sure that it was Nombe dressed, or undressed, for the part.  That knowledge came with reflection, but then I could have sworn, being deceived by the uncertain light, that the long dead Mameena stood before us as she had seemed to stand before me in the hut of Zikali, radiating a kind of supernatural life and beauty.

A little wind arose, shaking the dry leaves of the aloes in the kloof; I thought it whispered—­Hail, Mameena! Some of the older men, too, among them a few who had seen her die, in trembling voices murmured, “It is Mameena!” whereon Zikali scowled at them and they grew silent.

As for the figure it stood there patient and unmoved, like one who has all time at its disposal, playing with the blue beads.  I heard them tinkle against each other, which proves that it was human, for how could a wraith cause beads to tinkle, although it is true that Christmas-story ghosts are said to clank their chains.  Her eyes roved idly and without interest over the semi-circle of terrified men before her.  Then by degrees they fixed themselves upon the tree behind which I was crouching, whereon Goza sank paralyzed to the ground.  She contemplated this tree for a while that seemed to me interminable; it reminded me of a setter pointing game it winded but could not see, for her whole frame grew intent and alert.  She ceased playing with the beads and stretched out her slender hand towards me.  Her lips moved.  She spoke in a sweet, slow voice, saying—­

“O Watcher-by-Night, is it thus you greet her to whom you have given strength to stand once more beneath the moon?  Come hither and tell me, have you no kiss for one from whom you parted with a kiss?”

I heard.  Without doubt the voice was the very voice of Mameena (so well had Nombe been instructed).  Still I determined not to obey it, who would not be made a public laughing-stock for a second time in my life.  Also I confess this jesting with the dead seemed to me somewhat unholy, and not on any account would I take a part in it.