“You desire porters,” she repeated meditatively.  “We will talk of that when you have rested here a moon or two.  Meanwhile, give me Little Bonsa that she may be restored to her own place.”

Alan opened the tin box and lifting out the fetish, gave it to the priestess, who took it and with a serpentine movement of extraordinary grace glided from her chair on to her knees, holding the mask above her head in both hands, then thrice covered her face with it.  This done, she called to the priests, bidding them take Little Bonsa to her own place and give notice throughout the land that she was back again.  She added that the ancient Feast of Little Bonsa would be held on the night of the full moon within three days, and that all preparations must be made for it as she had commanded.

Then the head medicine-man, raising himself upon his knees, crept on to the dais, took the fetish from her hands, and breaking into a wild song of triumph, he and his companions crawled down the hall and vanished through the door, leaving them alone save for the Asika’s husband.

When they had gone the Asika looked at this man in a reflective way, and Alan looked at him also through the eyeholes of his mask, finding him well worth studying.  As has been said, notwithstanding his paint and grotesque decorations, he was very good-looking for a native, with well-cut features of an Arab type.  Also he was tall and muscular and not more than thirty years of age.  What struck Alan most, however, was none of these things, nor his jewelled chains, nor even his gilded pigtail, but his eyes, which were full of terrors.  Seeing them, Alan remembered Jeekie’s story, which he had told to Mr. Haswell’s guests at The Court, of how the husband of the Asika was driven mad by ghosts.

Just then she spoke to the man, addressing him by name and saying: 

“Leave us alone, Mungana, I wish to speak with this white lord.”

He did not seem to hear her words, but continued to stare at Alan.

“Hearken!” she exclaimed in a voice of ice.  “Do my bidding and begone, or you shall sleep alone to-night in a certain chamber that you know of.”

Then Mungana rose, looked at her as a dog sometimes does at a cruel master who is about to beat it, yes, with just that same expression, put his hands before his eyes for a little while, and turning, left the hall by a side door which closed behind him.  The Asika watched him go, laughed musically and said: 

“It is a very dull thing to be married,—­but how are you named, white man?”

“Vernon,” he answered.

“Vernoon, Vernoon,” she repeated, for she could not pronounce the O was we do.  “Are you married, Vernoon?”

He shook his head.

“Have you been married?”

“No,” he answered, “never, but I am going to be.”

“Yes,” she repeated, “you are going to be.  You remember that you were near to it many years ago, when Little Bonsa got jealous and ran away with you.  Well, she won’t do that again, for doubtless she is tired of you now, and besides,” she added with a flash of ferocity, “I’d melt her with fire first and set her spirit free.”