Zenuta had once been one of the best dancers in the tribe, but, whether my words were taking effect in her heart, she now absolutely refused to join, for which I was not sorry, as I took care to tell her afterwards, and received a proud, happy smile from the poor girl's eyes, for these dances do not conduce to the morality of the people, who seem to work themselves up to a perfectly mad frenzy, when they recognised no bounds to their desires. I said "Poor Zenuta," and each day I repeated the phrase with greater pity, for I had begun to pine for dear England and English faces with a true home sickness, and looked forward to every succeeding hour, hoping it might bring some chance to enable me to return, when I should be compelled to tell her that we must part for ever. It is true she had begged me to take her with me, saying she would never vex me, but work for me night and day; but whatever should I, Dick Galbraith, a poor seaman, do with a Kaffir girl in England? I respected the affection she displayed too much to have her treated with indignity as she might be in a strange and civilised land, and I could not have taken her home, so in all ways I saw it was best and kindest to leave her with her tribe, feeling sure among them she would soon get reconciled to the separation, and, no doubt, quickly marry after I left, as I intended to give her all my cows and other effects. The sequel will prove, however, how little I knew the really determined nature Zenuta possessed. That in intellect and sensibility she was far in advance of her people I had speedily become aware; but I never dreamed to what lengths her loving, humble devotion to one, who could only give her a friendly, pitying kindness in return, would carry her. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. HOME THOUGHTS--THE DROUGHT AND THE RAIN-MAKER--I RECEIVE TERRIBLE NEWS. It was some time after the above that I sat just outside my hut enjoying a smoke, or rather I should not say enjoying, for I happened to be extremely sad at heart. I had now been nearly a year in Caffraria, and no doubt had long been supposed dead by my wife and friends, for the news of the wreck could not fail to have reached them by this time, accompanied no doubt by the sad intelligence that all the crew had perished. I pictured to myself my wife's despair on hearing it; how her pretty face would be bathed in tears; how she, in her great sorrow, might earnestly pray for death, till recalled from the wife's grief, by the mother's duties, she would clasp my children to her bosom, and, overcoming her heart-broken agony, resolve, if only for my sake, to live for them.