All the company turned and stared at me, even Goza lifted his head and stared, but I sat still and contemplated the beauties of the night.

“If it is the spirit of Mameena, he will come,” whispered Cetewayo to Umnyamana.

“Yes, yes,” answered the Prime Minister, “for the rope of his love will draw him.  He who has once kissed Mameena, must kiss her again when she asks.”

Hearing this I grew furiously indignant and was about to break into explanations, when to my horror I found myself rising from that stool.  I tried to cling to it, but, as it only came into the air with me, let it go.

“Hold me, Goza,” I muttered, and he like a good fellow clutched me by the ankle, whereon I promptly kicked him in the mouth, at least my foot kicked him, not my will.  Now I was walking towards that Shape—­shadow or woman—­like a man in his sleep, and as I came she stretched out her arms and smiled oh! as sweetly as an angel, though I felt quite sure that she was nothing of the sort.

Now I stood opposite to her alongside the fire of which the smoke smelt like roses at the dawn, and she seemed to bend towards me.  With shame and humiliation I perceived that in another moment those arms would be about me.  But somehow they never touched me; I lost sight of them in the rose-scented smoke, only the sweet, slow voice which I could have sworn was that of Mameena, murmured in my ear—­well, words known to her and me alone that I had never breathed to any living being, though of course I am aware now that they must also have been known to somebody else.

“Do you doubt me any longer?” went on the murmuring.  “Say, am I Nombe now?  Or—­or am I in truth that Mameena, whose kiss thrills your lips and soul?  Hearken, Macumazahn, for the time is short.  In the rout of the great battle that shall be, do not fly with the white men, but set your face towards Ulundi.  One who was your friend will guard you, and whoever dies, no harm shall come to you now that the fire which burns in my heart has set all Zululand aflame.  Hearken once more.  Hans, the little yellow man who was named Light-in-Darkness, he who died among the Kendah people, sends you salutations and gives you praise.  He bids me tell you that now of his own accord he renders to me, Mameena, the royal salute, because royal I must ever be; because also he and I who are so far apart are yet one in the love that is our life.”

The smoke blew into my face, causing me to reel back.  Cetewayo caught me by the arm, saying—­

“Tell us, are the lips of the dead witch warm or cold?”

“I do not know,” I groaned, “for I never touched her.”

“How he lies!  Oh! how he lies even about what our eyes saw,” said Cetewayo reflectively as I blundered past him back to my seat, on which I sank half swooning.  When I got my wits again the figure that pretended to be Mameena was speaking, I suppose in answer to some question of Zikali’s which I had not heard.  It said—­