When Hokosa reached his kraal he found Noma sitting beneath a fruit tree that grew in it, idly employed in stringing beads, for the work of the household she left to his other wife, Zinti, an old and homely woman who thought more of the brewing of the beer and the boiling of the porridge than of religions or politics or of the will of kings.  Of late Noma had haunted the shadow of this tree, for beneath it lay that child which had been born to her.

“Does it please the king to grant leave for my journey?” she asked, looking up.

“Yes, it pleases him.”

“I am thankful,” she answered, “for I think that if I bide here much longer, with ghosts and memories for company, I shall go mad,” and she glanced at a spot near by, where the earth showed signs of recent disturbance.

“He gives leave,” Hokosa went on, taking no notice of her speech, “but he suspects us.  Listen——­” and he told her of the talk that had passed between himself and the king.

“The white man has read you as he reads in his written books,” she answered, with a little laugh.  “Well, I said that he would be too clever for you, did I not?  It does not matter to me, for to-morrow I go upon my journey, and you can settle it as you will.”

“Ay!” answered Hokosa, grinding his teeth, “it is true that he has read me; but this I promise you, that all books shall soon be closed to him.  Yet how is it to be done without suspicion or discovery?  I know many poisons, but all of them must be administered, and let him work never so cunningly, he who gives a poison can be traced.”

“Then cause some other to give it and let him bear the blame,” suggested Noma languidly.

Hokosa made no answer, but walking to the gate of the kraal, which was open, he leaned against it lost in thought.  As he stood thus he saw a woman advancing towards him, who carried on her head a small basket of fruit, and knew her for one of those whose business it was to wait upon the Messenger in his huts, or rather in his house, for by now he had built himself a small house, and near it a chapel.  This woman saw Hokosa also and looked at him sideways, as though she would like to stop and speak to him, but feared to do so.

“Good morrow to you, friend,” he said.  “How goes it with your husband and your house?”

Now Hokosa knew well that this woman’s husband had taken a dislike to her and driven her from his home, filling her place with one younger and more attractive.  At the question the woman’s lips began to tremble, and her eyes swam with tears.

“Ah! great doctor,” she said, “why do you ask me of my husband?  Have you not heard that he has driven me away and that another takes my place?”

“Do I hear all the gossip of this town?” asked Hokosa, with a smile.  “But come in and tell me the story; perchance I may be able to help you, for I have charms to compel the fancy of such faithless ones.”