"I am sorry," I said, "for I must go. Well, Tugela, express my sincere thanks to Metilulu, and say that I have no means now of showing my gratitude, but, if he will allow me, I should like to send him back by the guide some presents, if he would honour me by their acceptance." Tugela, replying he had no doubt this would much please the chief, willingly took the message; and no sooner had he gone than, casting myself on the ground, I actually cried for joy at the thought of the possibility of once again embracing my dear wife and little ones; while even Jack's eyes grew dim though, as he said, he had nothing else but his country and his ship to love and care for; and, he added, "by jingo, I'll be true to 'em, that I will, or I'm a black nigger of a Kaffir." Poor Zenuta; at that moment I did not even give her a single thought. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. MY LAST INTERVIEW WITH METILULU--FAREWELL TO THE KRAAL--THE HONEY GUIDE--THE BUSH ON FIRE. The next morning we three were early astir; indeed, as may be imagined, I nor Thompson had not slept much all that night, through thinking of our speedy return. Even the few preparations we had to make were soon completed in our hurry, then we sat down to see if Metilulu, to whom I had communicated my intention of leaving, by his kind permission, that day, would send any farewell message or adieu. I fancied he would not, for from what I could gather he apparently had taken my desire to quit his tribe as a great piece of ingratitude. I was exceedingly sorry that we should part thus, but how could I help it? How could I make it otherwise? It was while thus waiting that I began to think of Zenuta--poor, affectionate Zenuta! My heart blamed me bitterly for leaving her without a word, without again seeing her--as I intended to do--for I dreaded the parting scene, more as may be supposed for her sake than my own, for all my affections were centred upon the dear ones at home, while hers, I knew too well, were fixed with a grasp like that of iron upon my unworthy self. I pictured her eager inquiry of the warriors who were to fetch the residue of the tribe to their new dwelling as to where I was, and her surprised despair when they said that I had gone--gone for ever--leaving but a kind message for her, and endowing her with all my household goods. How little would she regard the latter? How poignant would be her grief? How would she bear my cruel desertion? I asked myself. With rage? with passionate indignation? or with deep hopeless despair and prostrate heart-broken sorrow? The thought was too painful, even in the surmise--I felt my lip tremble and my eyes grow misty. Poor girl! I would have done as much for her as I would for a dear sister; but neither sister, father, nor mother, could have made me renounce the chance of once more joining my wife and children.