“Great and good news truly, my friend.”

“Yes-in the name of God.”

“And whither art thou bound with thy caravan?”

“Sayd, the son of Majid, who came from Ujiji, hath told us of the road that the white man took, that he had arrived at Ujiji safely, and that he was on his way back to Unyanyembe.  So we have thought that if the white man could go there, we could also.  Lo, the Arabs come by the hundred by the white man’s road, to get the ivory from Ujiji.

“I am that white man.”

“You?”

« Yes.”

" Why it was reported that you were dead—­that you fought with the Wazavira.”

“Ah, my friend, these are the words of Njara, the son of Khamis.  See” (pointing to Livingstone), “this is the white man, my father *, whom I saw at Ujiji.  He is going with me to Unyanyembe to get his cloth, after which he will return to the great waters.” __________________ ** It is a courteous custom in Africa to address elderly people as " Baba,” (Father.) __________________

“Wonderful!—­thou sayest truly.”

“What has thou to tell me of the white man at Unyanyembe?”

“Which white man?”

“The white man I left in the house of Sayd, the son of Salim—­my house—­at Kwihara.”

" He is dead.”

" Dead!”

“True.”

“You do not mean to say the white man is dead?”

“True—­he is dead.”

“How long ago?”

“Many months now.”

“What did he die of?”

“Homa (fever).”

“Any more of my people dead?”

“I know not.”

" Enough.”  I looked sympathetically at the Doctor, and he replied,

“I told you so.  When you described him to me as a drunken man, I knew he could not live.  Men who have been habitual drunkards cannot live in this country, any more than men who have become slaves to other vices.  I attribute the deaths that occurred in my expedition on the Zambezi to much the same cause.”

“Ah, Doctor, there are two of us gone.  I shall be the third, if this fever lasts much longer.”

“Oh no, not at all.  If you would have died from fever, you would have died at Ujiji when you had that severe attack of remittent.  Don’t think of it.  Your fever now is only the result of exposure to wet.  I never travel during the wet season.  This time I have travelled because I was anxious, and I did not wish to detain you at Ujiji.”

“Well, there is nothing like a good friend at one’s back in this country to encourage him, and keep his spirits up.  Poor Shaw!  I am sorry—­very sorry for him.  How many times have I not endeavoured to cheer him up!  But there was no life in him.  And among the last words I said to him, before parting, were, `Remember, if you return to Unyanyembe, you die!’”