“Behold, now,” said the Molimo in his still voice, pointing at the dead Matabele with his finger; “do I speak lies, or is it true that this man shall not look more upon his king’s face?  Well, as it was with the servant, so it shall be with the lord, only more slowly.  It is the decree of the Munwali, spoken by the voice of his Mouth, the Molimo of Bambatse.  Go, children of Lobengula, and bear with you as an offering this first-fruit of the harvest that the white men shall reap among the warriors of his people.”

The thin voice died away, and there was silence so intense that Benita thought she heard the scraping of the feet of a green lizard which crept across a stone a yard or two away.

Then of a sudden it ended.  Of a sudden the two remaining Matabele turned and fled for their lives, and as, when dogs run, a flock of sheep will wheel about and pursue them, so did the Makalanga.  They grabbed at the messengers with their hands, tearing their finery from them; they struck them with sticks, they pounded them with stones, till at length two bruised and bleeding men, finding all escape cut off, and led perhaps by some instinct, staggered back to where Benita stood horrified at this dreadful scene, and throwing themselves upon the ground, clutched at her dress and prayed for mercy.

“Move a little, Miss Clifford,” said Meyer.  “Three of those brutes will not weigh heavier than one upon my conscience.”

“No, no, you shall not,” she answered.  “Mambo, these men are messengers; spare them.”

“Hearken to the voice of pity,” said the old prophet, “spoken in a place where pity never was, and not in vain.  Let them go.  Give mercy to the merciless, for she buys their lives with a prayer.”

“They will bring the others on us,” muttered Tamas, and even old Mr. Clifford shook his head sadly.  But the Molimo only said: 

“I have spoken.  Let them go.  That which will befall must befall, and from this deed no ill shall come that would not have come otherwise.”

“You hear?  Depart swiftly,” said Benita, in Zulu.

With difficulty the two men dragged themselves to their feet, and supporting each other, stood before her.  One of them, a clever, powerful-faced man, whose black hair was tinged with grey, addressing himself to Benita, gasped: 

“Hear me.  That fool there,” and he pointed to his dead companion, “whose boasting brought his death upon him, was but a low fellow.  I, who kept silence and let him talk, am Maduna, a prince of the royal house who justly deserve to die because I turned my back upon these dogs.  Yet I and my brother here take life at your hands, Lady, who, now that I have had time to think, would refuse it at theirs.  For, whether I stay or go does not matter.  The impi waits; the slayers are beneath the walls.  Those things which are decreed will happen; there, yonder old Wizard speaks true.  Listen, Lady:  should it chance that you have cause to demand two lives at the hands of Maduna, in his own name and the name of his king he promises them to you.  In safety shall they pass, they and all that is theirs, without toll taken.  Remember the oath of Maduna, Lady, in the hour of your need, and do you, my brother, bear witness to it among our people.”