"Yes, yes; let Mafuta be instantly summoned. And as for the white man, let the presumptuous pretender be closely confined in his own hut until I can decide upon the nature of his punishment. Away with him at once; and if he is allowed to escape, the guards who have him in charge shall be nailed, head downward, to the crucifixion tree!" Gouroo smiled a smile of triumphant malice as, in reply to her summons, two guards entered, and, seizing me roughly, hurried me away; while Ama, bathed in tears, flung herself upon her knees beside her father's couch and vainly besought him to have mercy upon me. As I passed out of the room I saw the king, writhing in agony, rise upon his couch and strike the poor girl a violent blow, while he bellowed a fierce command to her to withdraw from his sight. It was nearly noon when I was conducted back to my hut after my futile attempt to cure the king; and it was not until close upon sunset that I got any further news, when one of the guards who had me in charge informed me, as he brought in my supper, that Mafuta had completely cured the king within an hour of the moment when he was first summoned to his Majesty's bedside; that Banda had already risen from his couch; and that, in requital for his service, Mafuta had claimed--and been granted--the right to dispose of me as he pleased upon the occasion of the forthcoming festival of the Customs! Which meant, of course, that I was to die by some exquisite refinement of torture, the nature of which would probably be too dreadful for description. For I very shrewdly suspected that Gouroo and Mafuta were equally interested in my downfall--might, indeed, have conspired in some mysterious manner to bring it about--and would probably take care that it should be as complete and disastrous as savage vindictiveness could make it.