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At first I was inclined to laugh; the whole thing seemed so absurd.  On reflection, however, I perceived that in reality it was very serious to people situated as we were.  This woman was a savage; more, a mystic savage of considerable powers of mind—­a formidable combination.  Also there were no restraints upon her, since public opinion had as little authority in the Black Kloof as the Queen’s Writ.  Lastly, it was not unknown for women to conceive these violent affections which, if thwarted, filled them with something like madness.  Thus I remembered a very terrible occurrence of my youth which resulted in the death of one who was most dear to me.  I will not dwell on it, but this, too, was the work of a passionate creature, woman I can scarcely call her, who thought she was being robbed of one whom she adored.

The end of it was that I did not enjoy my pipe that night, though luckily Anscombe returned after a successful evening’s netting, about which he was so full of talk that there was no need for me to say much.  So I put off any discussion of the problem until the morrow.



Next morning, as a result of my cogitations, I went to see Zikali.  I was admitted after a good deal of trouble and delay, for although his retinue was limited and, with the exception of Nombe, entirely male, this old prophet kept a kind of semi-state and was about as difficult to approach as a European monarch.  I found him crouching over a fire in his hut, since at this season of the year even in that hot place the air was chilly until midday.

“What is it, Macumazahn?” he asked.  “As to your going away, have patience.  I learn that he who was King of the Zulus is in full flight, with the white men tracking him like a wounded buck.  When the buck is caught and killed, then you can go.”

“It is about Nombe,” I answered, and told him all the story, which did not seem to surprise him at all.

“Now see, Macumazahn,” he said, taking some snuff, “how hard it is to dam up the stream of nature.  This child, Nombe, is of my blood, one whom I saved from death in a strange way, not because she was of my blood but that I might make an experiment with her.  Women, as you who are wise and have seen much will know, are in truth superior to men, though, because they are weaker in body, men have the upper hand of them and think themselves their masters, a state they are forced to accept because they must live and cannot defend themselves.  Yet their brains are keener, as an assegai is keener than a hoe; they are more in touch with the hidden things that shape out fate for people and for nations; they are more faithful and more patient, and by instinct if not by reason, more far-seeing, or at least the best of them are so, and by their best, like men, they should be judged.  Yet this is the hole in their shield.  When they love they become the

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