It was puzzling. The Abantwana Mlimo--or children of the mystery--its hierarchy to wit, were all, so far as he knew, of the subject race of Makalaka; yet here was a man obviously of pure Zulu descent, and carrying himself with all the natural dignity of that kingly race. Could he be the genuine Qubani? There was absolutely nothing suggestive of the witch-doctor about him. "This, too, is Umtwana Mlimo?" said the sorcerer, with a good-humouredly quizzical look at Father Mathias. "Of the Great Great One above--yes," answered the latter. "_Ou_! The Great Great One above! I am a child beside such," rejoined Qubani. "My father, _u'gwai_ [tobacco] is scarce among us at present," reaching out his hand. Laughing, the priest gave him some. Then, as they chatted further, Lamont became impatient, though he did not show it. He had got at all he wanted. He had seen Qubani, and now he wanted to start, and it was with unmitigated relief that he hailed the arrival of Gudhlusa, who came to tell them that Zwabeka was no longer sick and hoped they would not depart without coming to bid him farewell. The chief's quarters were in a little enclosure apart, right on the opposite side of the kraal. Leading their horses, which they had already saddled up, they accompanied Gudhlusa; the _isanusi_ also falling in with them. Zwabeka was a tall, elderly, rather morose-looking savage; and his tone as he talked with them was dashed with melancholy. The times were bad, he said--yes, very bad. Their cattle were all dying of the pestilence, and such as did not die, the Government had killed. "Where was U' Dokotela?" [Dr Jameson.] Now Lamont became wary. It was impossible to suppose that the news of the Raid had not reached these people--for natives have a way of obtaining news, at almost whatever distance, rather quicker than Europeans with all their telegraphic facilities. So he answered that he was away, but would soon be back. "He should not have gone," was the chief's rejoinder. "While U' Dokotela was in the country it was well. He was our father, but now-- whom! Well, the Government is our father instead." This, uttered with an air of beautiful resignation, was tickling Lamont to the last degree. But he answered gravely that that was so indeed. Then he announced that they must resume their way, but first he had a gift for the chief--producing a half-sovereign. "_Nkose! Baba_!" cried Zwabeka with alacrity, receiving it in both hands, as the way is with natives. "And the white _isanusi_--is he not my father too?" "I am a poor man, chief," answered the priest, mustering his best Sindabele. "Yet--here is something." Zwabeka looked at the silver without great enthusiasm, while the bystanders muttered-- "A poor man? _Yau_! An _isanusi_ a poor man! _Mamoi_ was ever such a thing heard of?" "It is true _amadoda_," said Lamont. "The white _isanusi_ give away all the gifts _they_ receive--and more."