“Not so, not so,” he answered hurriedly. “Hadst thou not come the girl would have died, as she deserved to do according to our law. But thou hast come and claimed her, O Holder of the Spirit of Nomkubulwana, and she sits in thy shadow and is clothed with thy garment. Take her then, for henceforth she is holy, as thou art holy.” Rachel heard, and without any change of countenance waved her hand to show that this question was finished. Then she asked suddenly: “What is this great matter whereof thou wouldst speak with me, O King?” “Surely thy wisdom has told thee, White One,” he answered uneasily. “Perchance, yet I would have it from thy lips, and now.” Now Dingaan consulted a little with his council. “White One,” he said presently, “the thing is grave, and we need guidance. Therefore, as the circle of the witch-doctors have declared must be done, we ask it of thee who art named with the name of the Spirit of our people and hast of her wisdom. Thou knowest, White One, of the fights in past years between the white people of Natal and the Zulus, in which many were slain on either side. But now, when we are at peace with the English, we hear of another white people, the Amaboona” (_i.e._ the Dutch Boers), “who are marching towards us from the Cape, and have already fought with Moselikatze—the traitor who was once my captain—and killed thousands of his men. These Amaboona threaten us also, and say aloud that they will eat us up, for they are brave and armed with the white man’s weapons that spit out lightning. Now, White One, what shall we do? Shall I send out my impis and fall on them while they are unprepared, and make an end of them, as seems wisest, and is the wish of my indunas? Or, shall I sit at home and watch, trying to be at peace with them, and only strike back if they strike at me? Answer not lightly, O Zoola, for much may hang upon thy words. Remember also that he whose name may not be spoken, the Lion who ruled before me and is gone, with his last breath uttered a certain prophecy concerning the white people and this land.” “Let me hear that prophecy, O King.” “Come forth,” said Dingaan pointing to a councillor who sat in the circle, “come forth, thou who knowest, and tell the tale in the ears of this White One.” A figure rose, a draped figure whose face was hidden in a hood of blanket. It came forward, and as it came it drew the blanket tighter about it. Rachel, watching all things, saw, or thought she saw, that one of its hands was white as though it had been burned with fire. Surely she had seen such a hand before. “Speak,” she said. “Name me by my name and tell me who I am and I will obey thee,” answered the man. Then she was sure, for she remembered the voice. She looked at him indifferently and asked: “By what name shall I name you, O Slayer of a King? Will you be called Mopo or Umbopa, who have borne them both?” Now Dingaan stared, and the shrouded form before her started as though in surprise.