"Stand forth, O Sekosini! and tell us what you know concerning the sickness of the chief, 'Nkuni, and the deaths of those other six who have recently travelled along the Dark Path!" Then, to the unutterable confusion and dismay of his fellow conspirators, the chief witch doctor, speaking in a loud, clear voice, proceeded clearly and succinctly to unfold detail after detail of the plot for the overthrow of the king, and the means whereby it had been hoped to accomplish it, including the murder of the six chiefs who, it was believed, were powerful enough to render the scheme abortive. As the full, cold-blooded atrocity of the conspiracy became revealed, murmurs of anger and detestation, low at first, but louder as the story proceeded, began to run round the line of chiefs, while those who sat next the parties implicated edged away from them on either side as far as possible, until they crouched, isolated, crestfallen, and self- condemned by their guilty countenances, a target for all eyes. At length Sekosini's story came to an end, and for a few tense moments a profound silence ensued. There was not an individual present who did not realise the vital importance to the entire nation of the issues that had been raised by the witch doctor's confession, and the manner in which those issues would be dealt with by the king. Disaffection, secretly fomented and carefully nurtured, had grown so strong that it now threatened to disintegrate the whole nation, and unless it were firmly dealt with would probably split up the Makolo into a number of petty tribes, at enmity with each other, and an easy prey to those other nations who surrounded them. Would the king have the courage boldly to seize the hydra-headed menace and choke the life out of it, or would he resort to a policy of temporising and concession? Everybody present awaited the king's action in breathless suspense, while some were already grimly counting the number of spears upon which they might reckon to back them. But the anxious broodings of the assemblage were suddenly broken in upon by the voice of the king, who, lifting his head, cried in a loud voice: "Ingona, trusted friend and counsellor of the king, induna of the Makolosi regiment, the very flower and backbone of my army, you have heard the tale told by Sekosini. Say now, is that tale false, or is it true?" Ingona, a war-scarred veteran of perhaps fifty years of age, tall, straight as a spear shaft, and of commanding presence, rose to his feet and answered in a clear, deep voice: "It is true, O Mighty One! true in every detail." "It is true," repeated the king, in a tone of deep sorrow; "yes, unhappily there is no room to doubt it; every word carried conviction of its truthfulness to my mind. It is true; and the meaning of that is that the chiefs of the Makolo are divided into two factions, one of which would leave the government of the nation in my hands, while the other would entrust it to--whom?"