Thus he rambled on, as it occurred to me who watched and listened, talking against time.  For I observed that while he spoke a cloud was passing over the face of the moon, and that when he ceased speaking it was quite obscured by this cloud, so that the Vale of Bones was plunged in a deep twilight that was almost darkness.  Further, in a nervous kind of way, he did something more to his wizard’s fire which again caused it to throw out a fan of smoke that hid him and the execution rock in front of which he sat.

The cloud floated by and the moon came out as though from an eclipse; the smoke of the fire, too, thinned by degrees.  As it melted and the light grew again, I became aware that something was materializing, or had appeared on the point of the rock above us.  A few seconds later, to my wonder and amazement, I perceived that this something was the spirit-like form of a white woman which stood quite still upon the very point of the rock.  She was clad in some garment of gleaming white cut low upon her breast, that may have been of linen, but from the way it shone, suggested that it was of glittering feathers, egrets’ for instance.  Her ruddy hair was outspread, and in it, too, something glittered, like mica or jewels.  Her feet and milk-hued arms were bare and poised in her right hand was a little spear.

Nor did I see alone, since a moan of fear and worship went up from the Councillors.  Then they grew silent stared and stared.

Suddenly Zikali lifted his head and looked at them through the thin flame of the fire which made his eyes shine like those of a tiger or of a cornered baboon.

“At what do you gaze so hard, King and Councillors?” he asked.  “I see nothing.  At what then do you gaze so hard?”

“On the rock above you stands a white spirit in her glory.  It is the Inkosazana herself,” muttered Cetewayo.

“Has she come then?” mocked the old wizard.  “Nay, surely it is but a dream, or another of my tricks; some black woman painted white that I have smuggled here in my medicine bag, or rolled up in the blanket on my back.  How can I prove to you that this is not another cheat like to that of the spirit of Mameena whom the white man, her lover, did not know again?  Go near to her you must not, even if you could, seeing that if by chance she should not be a cheat, you would die, every man of you, for woe to him whom Nomkubulwana touches.  How then, how?  Ah!  I have it.  Doubtless in his pocket Macumazahn yonder hides a little gun, Macumazahn who with such a gun can cut a reed in two at thirty paces, or shave the hair from the chin of a man, as is well known in the land.  Let him then take his little gun and shoot at that which you say stands upon the rock.  If it be a black woman painted white, doubtless she will fall down dead, as so many have fallen from that rock.  But if it be the Princess of Heaven, then the bullet will pass through her or turn aside and she will take no harm, though whether Macumazahn will take any harm is more than I can say.”