"But quite strong enough to go down the stream--of course I don't mean the stream of life, but of the Zambesi--with Dona Isabel de Maxara?" The captain of the gallant 150th did not reply, but fell into a musing mood. Some Portuguese cigarettes lay on the table near the chessmen. The night was cool; and it was pleasant, looking over the flowing river, and watching the twinkling lights flashing from the windows and embrasures of the fort. The cry of the jackal was heard from time to time; a distant splash told of the hippopotami; and then the moon rose, tinging the stream with its rays, and lighting up the islands on its bosom. The well-known conical hill of Baramuana became distinctly visible; and far away to the northward, the faint, ghostlike outline of the Morumbala range could with difficulty be traced; while the flat country round, closely covered with forest growth, looked like a dark blot in the moonlight. The lights twinkled and then went out in the fort; the noise in the wretched houses of Senna gradually ceasing. "And what are your intentions, Wyzinski, on your arrival at the Cape?" asked Hughes, after a long silence. "To organise a party; get the support of the English Government, if possible; but, whether or not, to return to the Amatonga, and by means of the ambition of their chief, Umhleswa, fully to explore the ruins now lying buried there. Will you join me?" "No, Wyzinski; I have had enough of African life. I long for Europe and its civilisation." "Say for Portugal and its water-melons, and I shall understand you better." "Nay," answered the soldier, dreamily; "this fever has weakened me, and I have my regiment to think of. I must shake it off, or all hopes of advancement will be taken from me." "You are quite right," replied the missionary. "Concentrate your thoughts on that, and don't think of the Dona Isabel; that haughty old noble would as soon dream of the sun for her bridegroom, as of a captain of the 150th." The soldier sighed; and Wyzinski, using the whistle, the boat was soon once more at the island, and Senna, its fort, commandant, garrison, and guests, buried in deep sleep, even with the fear of the treacherous Landeens before their eyes. Volume 2, Chapter I. ELEPHANT HUNTING ON THE SHIRE RIVER.