The little creature, crouching on hands and knees at Rachel’s feet, lifted her head and stared with her round eyes. At that moment, too, the sun broke out, and its rays, shining where they had never shone for ages, fell upon Rachel, upon her bright hair, and the white robes in which the dwarfs had clothed her, and the gleaming spear in her hand, causing her to look like some ancient statue of a goddess upon a temple roof. “Who art thou,” said the dwarf woman in the hissing voice of her race, “thou Beautiful One? I know! I know! Thou art that Inkosazana of the Zulus of whom we have had many visions, she for whom I sent. But the Inkosazana was mad, she had lost her Spirit; it has been seen here. Beautiful One, _thou_ art not mad.” “What does she say, Noie?” asked Rachel. “I can only understand some words.” Noie told her, and Rachel hid her eyes in her hand. Presently she let it fall, saying: “She is right. I lost my Spirit for a while; it went away with another Spirit. But I think that I have found it again. Tell her, Noie, that I have travelled far to seek my Spirit, and that I have found it again.” Noie, who could scarcely take her eyes from Rachel’s face, obeyed, but the old woman hardly seemed to heed her words; a grief had got hold of her. She rocked herself to and fro like a monkey that has lost its young, and cried out: “My tree has fallen, the tree of my House, which stood from the beginning of the world, has fallen, but that of Eddo still stands,” and she pointed to another giant of the forest that soared up, unharmed, at a little distance. “Nya’s tree has fallen—Eddo’s tree still stands. His magic has prevailed against me, his magic has prevailed against me!” As she spoke a man appeared scrambling along the bole towards them; it was Eddo himself. His round eyes shone, on his pale face there was a look of triumph, for whoever might be lost, the danger had passed him by. “Nya,” he piped, tapping her on the shoulder, “thy Ghost has deserted thee, old woman, thy tree is down. See, I spit upon it,” and he did so. “Thou art no longer Mother of the Trees; thou art only the old woman Nya. The Ghost people, the Dream people, the little Grey people, have a new queen, and I am her minister, for I rule her Spirit. Yonder she stands,” and he pointed at the tall and glittering Rachel. “Now, thou new-born Mother of the Trees, who wast the Inkosazana of the Zulus, obey me. Give death to this old woman, the Red Death, that her spirit may be spilt with her blood, and lost for ever. Give it to her with that spear in thy hand, while I hide my eyes, and reign thou in her place through me,” and he bowed his head and waited. “Not the Red Death, not the Red Death,” wailed Nya. “Give me the White Death and save my soul, Beautiful One, and in return I will give thee something that thou desirest, who am still the wisest of them all, although my Tree is down.”