Turning it over in his mind, Blachland could see two sides to the situation. Either Hlangulu designed to render him a service, and, incidentally, one much greater to himself--or his intent was wholly sinister, to set a trap for him to wit. He looked at Hlangulu. The Matabele's aspect was not prepossessing. It was that of a tall, gaunt native, with a sinister cast of countenance, never entirely free from something of a scowl,--in fact, an evil and untrustworthy rascal if appearances counted for anything at all. He tried to think whether he had ever given this man cause to harbour a grudge against him, and could recall nothing of the kind; but he did remember that Hlangulu was a clever and skilful hunter. Perhaps, after all, he had really gained the man's respect, and, to a certain extent, his attachment. He would keep him, at any rate for a while, but--would watch him narrowly. "Hlangulu," he called. "Go now and hurry on the herd of trade cattle. It should have been done before this." "_Nkose_!" And with this one word of salute the man started on his errand, not asking where the object thereof was to be found, where it had been last seen or anything. All of which was not lost upon Blachland. Decidedly he would keep Hlangulu, he told himself. CHAPTER EIGHT. "MERELY SPENCE." "So that's your latest, is it, Hermia?" The remark was inconsequent, in that it came on top of nothing at all. The time was the cool of the evening, and Blachland, lying back in a deep cane chair, was lazily puffing out clouds of smoke. He had not been talking much, and what little he had said consisted of a few drowsy remarks about nothing in particular. Now, after an interval of silence, came the above inconsequent one. "My latest! Who and what on earth are you talking about, Hilary?" "Merely Spence." "Oh, is that all? He's such a nice boy, though, isn't he?" "Candidly, he's only like thirty-nine out of forty, colourless." "How can you say that, Hilary? Why, he's awfully handsome." "Oh, I wasn't referring to externals, I mean the more important side of him; and--there's nothing in him." Hermia made no reply, she only smiled; but the smile was meant to convey that she knew better. Nothing in him! Wasn't there? If Hilary only knew? Truth to tell, however, she was a little relieved. This was the first reference he had made to the subject, and his silence all these hours had rendered her uneasy. What if he suspected? Now he seemed to drop it as though it were not worth pursuing. She, however, paradoxically enough, intended to let him know that it was. Could she not make him just one atom jealous? "Poor fellow, he's so lonely over at his camp," she pursued. "It does him good to come over here now and then." "Who?" said Blachland. His mind was running on the subject of Umzilikazi's grave, and the trustworthiness or the reverse of Hlangulu. "Who? Why, Justin of course. Weren't we talking about him?"