Now Hokosa turned to Owen:—­

“In the old days,” he said, “I could have answered her; but now I am fallen; or raised up—­at the least I am changed and cannot.  O prophet of Heaven, tell me what I shall do.”

“Sever the bond that you have upon her and let her go,” answered Owen.  “This love of yours is unnatural, unholy and born of witchcraft; have done with it, or if you cannot, at the least deny it, for such a woman, a woman who hates you, can work you no good.  Moreover, since she is a second wife, you being a Christian, are bound to free her should she so desire.”

“She can work me no good, Messenger, that I know; but I know also that while she struggles in the net of my will she can work me no evil.  If I loose the net and the fish swims free, it may be otherwise.”

“Loose it,” answered Owen, “and leave the rest to Providence.  Henceforth, Hokosa, do right, and take no thought for the morrow, for the morrow is with God, and what He decrees, that shall befall.”

“I hear you,” said Hokosa, “and I obey.”  For a while he rocked himself to and fro, staring at the ground, then he lifted his head and spoke:—­

“Woman,” he said, “the knot is untied and the spell is broken.  Begone, for I release you and I divorce you.  Flesh of my flesh have you been, and soul of my soul, for in the web of sorceries are we knit together.  Yet be warned and presume not too far, for remember that which I have laid down I can take up, and that should I choose to command, you must still obey.  Farewell, you are free.”

Noma heard, and with a sigh of ecstasy she sprang into the air as a slave might do from whom the fetters have been struck off.

“Ay,” she cried, “I am free!  I feel it in my blood, I who have lain in bondage, and the voice of freedom speaks in my heart and the breath of freedom blows in my nostrils.  I am free from you, O dark and accursed man; but herein lies my triumph and revenge—­you are not free from me.  In obedience to that white fool whom you have murdered, you have loosed me; but you I will not loose and could not if I would.  Listen now, Hokosa:  you love me, do you not?—­next to this new creed of yours, I am most of all to you.  Well, since you have divorced me, I will tell you, I go straight to another man.  Now, look your last on me; for you love me, do you not?” and she slipped the mantle from her shoulders and except for her girdle stood before him naked, and smiled.

“Well,” she went on, resuming her robe, “the last words of those we love are always dear to us; therefore, Hokosa, you who were my husband, I leave mine with you.  You are a coward and a traitor, and your doom shall be that of a coward and a traitor.  For my sake you betrayed Umsuka, your king and benefactor; for your own sake you betrayed Nodwengo, who spared you; and now, for the sake of your miserable soul, you have betrayed Hafela to Nodwengo.  Nay, I know the tale, do not answer me, but the end of it—­ah! that is yet to learn.  Lie there, snake, and lick the hand that you have bitten, but I, the bird whom you have loosed, I fly afar—­taking your heart with me!” and suddenly she turned and was gone.