“And who it seems has never learned when to die,” I remarked, speaking for the first time.

“Just so, Macumazahn, because I cannot die until my work is finished.  But thanks be to the spirits of my fathers and to my own that I live on to glut with vengeance, the end draws near at last, and as I promised you in the dead days, you shall have your share in it, Macumazahn.”

He paused, then continued, still staring at the sinking sun, which made his remarks about us, whom he did not seem to see, uncanny—­

“That white man with you is brave and well-born, one who loves fighting, I think, and the maiden is fair and sweet, with a high spirit.  She is thinking to herself that I am an old wizard whom, if she were not afraid of me, she would ask to tell her her fortune.  See, she understands and starts.  Well, perhaps I will one day.  Meanwhile, here is a little bit of it.  She will have five children, of whom two will die and one will give her so much trouble that she will wish it had died also.  But who their father will be I do not say.  Nombe my child, lead away this White One and her woman to the hut that has been made ready for her, for she is weary and would rest.  See, too, that she lacks for nothing which we can give her who is our guest.  Let the white lord, Mauriti, accompany her to the hut and be shown that next to it in which he and Macumazahn will sleep, so that he may be sure that she is safe, and attend to the horses if he wills.  There is a place to tether them behind the huts, and the men who travelled with you will help him.  Afterwards, when I have spoken with him, Macumazahn can join them that they may eat before they sleep.”

These directions I translated to Anscombe, who went gladly enough with Heda, for I think they were both afraid of the terrible old dwarf and did not desire his company in the gathering gloom.

“The sun sinks once more, Macumazahn,” he said when they were gone, “and the air grows chill.  Come with me now into my hut where the fire burns, for I am aged and the cold strikes through me.  Also there we can be alone.”

So speaking he turned and crawled into the hut, looking like a gigantic white-headed beetle as he did so, a creature, I remembered, to which I had once compared him in the past.  I followed, carrying the historic stool, and when he had seated himself on his kaross on the further side of the fire, took up my position opposite to him.  This fire was fed with some kind of root or wood that gave a thin clear flame with little or no smoke.  Over it he crouched, so closely that his great head seemed to be almost in the flame at which he stared with unblinking eyes as he had done at the sun, circumstances which added to his terrifying appearance and made me think of a certain region and its inhabitants.

“Why do you come here, Macumazahn?” he asked after studying me for a while through that window of fire.

“Because you brought me, Zikali, partly through your messenger, Nombe, and partly by means of a dream which she says you sent.”