flowers; I climb the rocks where you would never dare to go to find them; you pluck a piece of orange bloom in the garden and give it to her.  What does she do?—­she takes the orange bloom, she puts it in her breast, and lets my flowers die.  I call to her—­she does not hear me—­she is thinking.  You whisper to some one far away, and she hears and smiles.  She used to kiss me sometimes; now she kisses that white brat you brought, because you brought it.  Oh, I see it all—­all; I have seen it from the first; you are stealing her from us, stealing her to yourself, and those who loved her before you came are forgotten.  Be careful, Macumazahn, be careful, lest I am revenged upon you.  You, you hate me; you think me half a monkey; that servant of yours calls me Baboon-woman.  Well, I have lived with baboons, and they are clever—­yes, they can play tricks and know things that you don’t, and I am cleverer than they, for I have learnt the wisdom of white people also, and I say to you, Walk softly, Macumazahn, or you will fall into a pit,” and with one more look of malice she was gone.

I stood for a moment reflecting.  I was afraid of this strange creature who seemed to combine the cunning of the great apes that had reared her with the passions and skill of human kind.  I foreboded evil at her hands.  And yet there was something almost touching in the fierceness of her jealousy.  It is generally supposed that this passion only exists in strength when the object loved is of another sex from the lover, but I confess that, both in this instance and in some others which I have met with, this has not been my experience.  I have known men, and especially uncivilized men, who were as jealous of the affection of their friend or master as any lover could be of that of his mistress; and who has not seen cases of the same thing where parents and their children are concerned?  But the lower one gets in the scale of humanity, the more readily this passion thrives; indeed, it may be said to come to its intensest perfection in brutes.  Women are more jealous than men, small-hearted men are more jealous than those of larger mind and wider sympathy, and animals are the most jealous of all.  Now Hendrika was in some ways not far removed from animal, which may perhaps account for the ferocity of her jealousy of her mistress’s affection.

Shaking off my presentiments of evil, I entered the centre hut.  Mr. Carson was resting on the sofa, and by him knelt Stella holding his hand, and her head resting on his breast.  I saw at once that she had been telling him of what had come about between us; nor was I sorry, for it is a task that a would-be son-in-law is generally glad to do by deputy.

“Come here, Allan Quatermain,” he said, almost sternly, and my heart gave a jump, for I feared lest he might be about to require me to go about my business.  But I came.

“Stella tells me,” he went on, “that you two have entered into a marriage engagement.  She tells me also that she loves you, and that you say that you love her.”