Again, he had meekly helped to conduct Sabeela, whom, when he was at the Black Kloof evidently he loved to desperation, to her doom without lifting a finger to save her from a hideous destiny. Lastly, only a few hours ago, he had made a pusillanimous and contemptible speech, which I could see shocked and disgusted his betrothed, who, for her part, after her rescue and the death of her father, seemed to have gained the courage that he had lost, and more. It was inexplicable, at any rate to me, and in my bewilderment I referred the problem to Hans. He listened while I set out the case as it appeared to me, then answered, “The Baas does not keep his eyes open—at any rate, in the daytime, when he thinks everything is safe. If he did, he would understand why Issicore has become soft as a heated bar of iron. What makes men soft, Baas?” “Love,” I suggested. “Yes. At times love makes some men soft—I mean men like the Baas. And what else, Baas?” “Drink,” I answered savagely, getting it back on Hans. “Yes, at times drink makes some men soft. Men like me, Baas, who know that now and again it is wise to cease from being wise, lest Heaven should grow jealous of our wisdom and want to share it. But what makes all men soft?” “I don’t know.” “Then once more I must teach the Baas, as his Reverend Father, the Predikant, told me to do when I saw that the Baas had used up all his wits, saying to me before he died, ‘Hans, whenever you perceive that my son Allan, who does not always look where he is going, walks into water and gets out of his depth, swim in and pull him out, Hans.’” “You little liar!” I ejaculated, but taking no notice, Hans went on, “Baas, it is _fear_ that makes all men soft. Issicore is bending about like a heated ramrod because within him burns the fire of fear.” “Fear of what, Hans?” “As I have said, if the Baas had kept his eyes open, he would know. Did not the Baas notice a tall, dark-faced priest before whom the crowd parted, who came up to Issicore when first we landed on the quay here?” “Yes, I saw such a man. He bowed politely and I thought was greeting Issicore and making him some present.” “And did the Baas see what kind of a present he made him and hear his words of welcome? The Baas shakes his head. Well, I did. The present he gave to Issicore was a little skull carved out of black ivory or shell, or it may have been of polished lava rock. And the words of welcome were, ‘The gift of Heu-Heu to the lord Issicore, that gift which Heu-Heu sends to all who break the law and dare to leave the Land of the Walloos.’ Those were the words, for standing near by, I heard them, though I kept them from the Baas, waiting to see what would happen afterwards. “Then the priest went away, and what Issicore did with the little black skull I do not know. Perhaps he wears it round his neck, as he hasn’t got a watch chain, just as the Baas used to wear things that ladies had given him, or their pictures in a little silver brandy flask.”