“Hans,” I said when he had finished, “you are a very wonderful fellow, for you can get drunk on nothing at all.  Please remember, Hans, that you have been drunk to-night, yes, very drunk indeed, and never dare to repeat anything that you thought you saw while you were drunk.”

“Yes, Baas, I understand that I was drunk and already have forgotten everything.  But, Baas, there is still a bottle full of brandy and if I could have just one more tot I should forget so much better!”

By now we had reached our camp and here I found Umslopogaas sitting in the doorway and staring at the sky.

“Good-evening to you, Umslopogaas,” I said in my most unconcerned manner, and waited.

“Good-evening, Watcher-by-Night, who I thought was lost in the night, since in the end the night is stronger than any of its watchers.”

At this cryptic remark I looked bewildered but said nothing.  At length Umslopogaas, whose nature, for a Zulu, was impulsive and lacking in the ordinary native patience, asked,

“Did you make a journey this evening, Macumazahn, and if so, what did you see?”

“Did you have a dream this evening, Umslopogaas?” I inquired by way of answer, “and if so, what was it about?  I thought that I saw you shut your eyes in the House of the White One yonder, doubtless because you were weary of talk which you did not understand.”

“Aye, Macumazahn, as you suppose I grew weary of that talk which flowed from the lips of the White Witch like the music that comes from a little stream babbling over stones when the sun is hot, and being weary, I fell asleep and dreamed.  What I dreamed does not much matter.  It is enough to say that I felt as though I were thrown through the air like a stone cast from his sling by a boy who is set upon a stage to scare the birds out of a mealie garden.  Further than any stone I went, aye, further than a shooting star, till I reached a wonderful place.  It does not much matter what it was like either, and indeed I am already beginning to forget, but there I met everyone I have ever known.  I met the Lion of the Zulus, the Black One, the Earth-Shaker, he who had a ‘sister’ named Baleka, which sister,” here he dropped his voice and looked about him suspiciously, “bore a child, which child was fostered by one Mopo, that Mopo who afterwards slew the Black one with the Princes.  Now, Macumazahn, I had a score to settle with this Black One, aye, even though our blood be much of the same colour, I had a score to settle with him, because of the slaying of this sister of his, Baleka, together with the Langeni tribe.[*] So I walked up to him and took him by the head-ring and spat in his face and bade him find a spear and shield, and meet me as man to man.  Yes, I did this.”

     [*] For the history of Baleka, the mother of Umslopogaas,
     and Mopo, see the book called “Nada the Lily.”—­Editor.

“And what happened then, Umslopogaas?” I said, when he paused in his narrative.