I believe that I remained senseless for many hours, though towards the end of that time my swoon grew thin, as it were, and I heard a hollow voice speaking over me in Zulu. “I am glad that the little Son of George has been saved,” said the echoing voice, which I did not know, “for he has a great destiny and will be useful to the black people in time to come.” Then the voice went on: “O House of Senzangacona! now you have mixed your milk with blood, with white blood. Of that bowl you shall drink to the dregs, and afterwards must the bowl be shattered”; and the speaker laughed—a deep, dreadful laugh that I was not to hear again for years. I heard him go away, shuffling along like some great reptile, and then, with an effort, opened my eyes. I was in a large hut, and the only light in the hut came from a fire that burned in its centre, for it was night time. A Zulu woman, young and good-looking, was bending over a gourd near the fire, doing something to its contents. I spoke to her light-headedly. “O woman,” I said, “is that a man who laughed over me?” “Not altogether, Macumazahn,” she answered in a pleasant voice. “That was Zikali, the Mighty Magician, the Counsellor of Kings, the Opener of Roads; he whose birth our grandfathers do not remember; he whose breath causes the trees to be torn out by the roots; he whom Dingaan fears and obeys.” “Did he cause the Boers to be killed?” I asked. “Mayhap,” she answered. “Who am I that I should know of such matters?” “Are you the woman who was sick whom I was sent to visit?” I asked again. “Yes, Macumazahn, I was sick, but now I am well and you are sick, for so things go round. Drink this,” and she handed me a gourd of milk. “How are you named?” I inquired as I took it. “Naya is my name,” she replied, “and I am your jailer. Don’t think that you can escape me, though, Macumazahn, for there are other jailers without who carry spears. Drink.” So I drank and bethought me that the draught might be poisoned. Yet so thirsty was I that I finished it, every drop. “Now am I a dead man?” I asked, as I put down the gourd. “No, no, Macumazahn,” she who called herself Naya replied in a soft voice; “not a dead man, only one who will sleep and forget.” Then I lost count of everything and slept—for how long I know not. When I awoke again it was broad daylight; in fact, the sun stood high in the heavens. Perhaps Naya had put some drug into my milk, or perhaps I had simply slept. I do not know. At any rate, I was grateful for that sleep, for without it I think that I should have gone mad. As it was, when I remembered, which it took me some time to do, for a while I went near to insanity.