“But death could not wipe out the evil she had done, and on him rested the weight of all her sin. Therefore is he an outcast, and his name a scorn among his own people; for on him, and him only, resteth the burden of her who betrayed. And, therefore does he wander afar, without a kraal, and without an ox or a wife, and therefore will he die afar like a stricken buck, and his name be accursed from generation to generation, in that the people say that he slew his brother, Lousta, by treachery in the nighttime.”
The old Zulu paused, and I saw that he was deeply agitated by his own story. Presently he lifted his head, which he had bowed to his breast, and went on:
“I was that man, Bougwan. Ou! I was that man, and now hark thou! Even as I am, so wilt thou be—a tool, a plaything, an ox of burden to carry the evil deeds of another. Listen! When thou didst creep after the ‘Lady of the Night’ I was hard upon thy track. When she struck thee with the knife in the sleeping place of the White Queen I was there also. When thou didst let her slip away like a snake in the stones I saw thee; and I knew that she had bewitched thee, and that a true man had abandoned the truth, and he who aforetime loved a straight path had taken a crooked way. Forgive me, my father, if my words are sharp, but out of a full heart are they spoken. See her no more, so shalt thou go down with honour to the grave. Else because of the beauty of a woman that weareth as a garment of fur shalt thou be even as I am, and perchance with more cause. I have said.”
Throughout this long and eloquent address Good had been perfectly silent, but when the tale began to shape itself so aptly to his own case he coloured up, and when he learned that what had passed between him and Sorais had been overseen he was evidently much distressed. And now, when at last he spoke, it was in a tone of humility quite foreign to him.
“I must say,” he said, with a bitter little laugh, “that I scarcely thought that I should live to be taught my duty by a Zulu, but it just shows what we can come to. I wonder if you fellows can understand how humiliated I feel; and the bitterest part of it is that I deserve it all. Of course I should have handed her over to the guard, but I could not, and that is a fact. I let her go, and I promised to say nothing, more is the shame to me. She told me that if I would side with her she would marry me and make me king of this country; but thank goodness I did find the heart to say that even to marry her I could not desert my friends. And now you can do what you like; I deserve it all. All I have to say is that I hope that you may never love a woman with all your heart, and then be so sorely tempted of her,” and he turned to go.
“Look here, old fellow,” said Sir Henry, “just stop a minute; I have a little tale to tell you too.” And he proceeded to narrate what had taken place on the previous day between Sorais and himself.
This was a finishing stroke to poor Good. It is not pleasant to any man to learn that he has been made a tool of, but when the circumstances are as peculiarly atrocious as in the present case, it is about as bitter a pill as anybody can be called on to swallow.
“Do you know,” he said, “I think that between you, you fellows have about worked a cure,” and he turned and walked away, and I for one felt very sorry for him. Ah, if the moths would always carefully avoid the candle, how few burnt wings there would be!
That day was a Court day, when the Queens sat in the great hall and received petitions, discussed laws, etc., and thither we adjourned shortly afterwards. On our way we were joined by Good, who was looking exceedingly depressed, and no wonder.
When we got into the hall Nyleptha was already on her throne, and proceeding with business as usual, surrounded by councillors, courtiers, lawyers, priests, and an unusually strong guard. It was, however, easy to see from the air of excitement and expectation on the faces of everybody present that nobody was paying much attention to ordinary affairs, the fact being that the knowledge that civil war was imminent had now got abroad. We saluted Nyleptha and took our accustomed places, and for a little while things went on as usual, when suddenly the trumpets began to call outside the palace, and from the great crowd that was gathered there in anticipation of some unusual event there rose a roar of “Sorais! Sorais!”
Then came the roll of many chariot wheels, and presently the great curtains at the end of the hall were drawn wide and through them entered the “Lady of the Night” herself. Nor did she come alone. Preceding her was Agon, the High Priest, arrayed in his most gorgeous vestments, and on either side were other priests. The reason for their presence was obvious—coming with them it would have been sacrilege to attempt to detain her. Behind her were a number of the great lords, and behind them a small body of picked guards. A glance at Sorais herself was enough to show that her mission was of no peaceful kind, for in place of her gold-embroidered “kaf” she wore a shining tunic formed
