We stood still and watched from a little distance.  Heda knelt down and put her arms about Nombe.  They whispered together into each other’s ears.  Then they kissed.

It was at this moment that Zikali appeared, leaning on two of his servants.  By some occult art or instinct he seemed to know all that had happened, and oh! he looked terrible.  He crouched down in front of the dying woman and, toadlike, spat his venom at her.

“You lost your Spirit, did you?” he said.  “Well, it came back to me laden with the black honey of your treachery, to me, its home, as a bee comes to its hive.  It has told me everything, and well for you, Witch, it is that you are dying.  But think not that you shall escape me there in the world below, for thither I will follow you.  Curses on you, traitress, who would have betrayed me and brought all my plans to naught.  Ow! in a day to come I will pay you back a full harvest for this seed of shame that you have sown.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, then answered quite softly—­

“I think your chain is broken, O Zikali, no more my master.  I think that love has cut your chain in two and I fear you never more.  Keep the spirit you lent to me; it is yours, but the rest of me is my own, and in the house of my heart another comes to dwell.”

Then once more she stretched out her arms towards Heda and murmuring, “Sister, forget me not, Sister, who will await you for a thousand years,” she passed away.

It was a good ending to a bad business, and I confess I felt glad when it was finished.  Only afterwards I regretted very much that I had not found an opportunity to ask her whether or no she had masqueraded as Mameena in the Valley of Bones.  Now it is too late.

We buried poor Nombe decently in her own little hut where she used to practise her incantations.  Zikali and his people wished apparently to throw her to the vultures for some secret reason that had to do with their superstitions.  But Heda, who, now that Nombe was dead, developed a great affection for her not unmixed with a certain amount of compunction for which really she had no cause, withstood him to his face and insisted upon a decent interment.  So she was laid to earth still plastered with the white pigment and wrapped in the bloodstained feather robe.  I may add that on the following morning one of Zikali’s servants informed me solemnly that because of this she had been seen during the night riding up and down the rocks on a baboon as Zulu umtagati are supposed to do.  I have small doubt that as soon as we were gone they dug her up again and threw her to the vultures and the jackals according to their first intention.