“Perhaps, old friend,” he said, addressing him in German, “I, as well as you, have a City of Rest which I would reach, and care not if I pass thither on an assegai.” “I know it,” replied Hans, in the same tongue; “but useless is it to seek rest till God gives it. You have sought and passed through the jaws of many deaths, but you have not found. If it be not God’s will, you will not find it now. I know you too seek rest, my brother, and had I known that you would find that only down there”—and he pointed towards Zululand—“I had not come down to warn you, for blessed is rest, and happy he who gains it. But no, it is not that; I am sure now that you will not die; your evil, whatever it is, will fall from heaven.” “So be it,” said Ernest; “you are a strange man. I thought you a common monomaniac, and now you speak like a prophet.” The old man smiled. “You are right; I am both. Mostly I am mad. I know it. But sometimes my madness has its moments of inspiration, when the clouds lift from my mind, and I see things none others can see, and hear voices to which your ears are deaf. Such a moment is on me now; soon I shall be mad again. But before the cloud settles I would speak to you. Why, I know not, save that I loved you when first I saw your eyes open there upon the cold veldt. Presently I must go, and we shall meet no more, for I draw near to the snow-clad tree that marks the gate of the City of Rest. I can look into your heart now and see the trouble in it, and the sad, beautiful face that is printed on your mind. Ah, she is not happy; she, too, must work out her rest. But the time is short, the cloud settles, and I would tell you what is in my mind. Even though trouble, great trouble, close you in, do not be cast down, for trouble is the key of heaven. Be good; turn to the God you have neglected; struggle against the snares of the senses. O, I can see now! For you and for all you love there is joy and there is peace!” Suddenly he broke off; the look of inspiration faded from his face, which grew stupid and wild-looking. “Ah, the cruel man; he made a great hole in the stomach of my Wilhelmina!” Ernest had been bending forwards, listening with parted lips to the old man’s talk. When he saw that the inspiration had left him, he raised his head and said: “Gather yourself together, I beg you, for a moment. I wish to ask one question. Shall I ever——” “How shall I stop de bleeding from the witals of my dear wife?—who will plug up the hole in her?” Ernest gazed at the man. Was he putting all this on?—or was he really mad? For the life of him he could not tell. Taking out a sovereign, he gave it to him. “There is money to doctor Wilhelmina with,” he said. “Would you like to sleep here?—I can give you a blanket.” The old man took the money without hesitation, and thanked Ernest for it, but said he must go on at once.