Part 7 (2/2)

”_Au_!” replied the man, with a half-smile, bringing his hand to his mouth in deprecatory gesture, ”that is true, _Nkose_. But the Great Great One required me to stand among the ranks of the warriors. Now I am free once more, I would fain serve _Nkose_ again.”

Blachland looked musingly at him, but did not immediately reply.

”I would fain serve a white man who can so easily slay a great thing like that,” went on Hlangulu. ”Take me, _Nkose_. You will not find me useless for hunting, and I know of that as to which _Nkose_ would like to know.”

Blachland did not start at these last words, which were spoken with meaning, but he would have if his nerves had not long since been schooled to great self-control.

For, remembering the subject under discussion the last time he had seen this man, whom they had all suspected of eavesdropping,--being moreover, accustomed to native ways of talking ”dark,” he had no doubt whatever as to the meaning intended to be conveyed.

”Sit still a while, Hlangulu,” he said. ”I am not sure I have not servants enough. Yet it may be that I can do with another for hunting purposes. I will think about it. Here!”--and he handed him a stick of tobacco.

”You are my father, _Nkose_,” replied the Matabele, holding forth his joined hands to receive it. Then he stepped back.

”Who is he, and what does he want, Hilary?” said Hermia, who had hardly understood a word of this colloquy; and the same held good of Spence.

”Oh, he's a chap we had at Bulawayo. Wants to be taken on here. I think I'll take him.”

”I don't much like the look of him,” pursued Hermia, doubtfully.

”I should hang him on sight, if I were the jury empanelled to try him,”

declared Spence.

But for all the notice he took of them, Blachland might as well not have heard these remarks, for he busied himself giving directions to his ”boys,” relating to the preparation of the lion's skin, and a dozen other matters. Leaving him to this, the other two strolled back to the house.

”I'm going home directly, Hermia,” said Spence, with a bitter emphasis on the word ”home.” ”I rather think I'm the third who const.i.tutes a crowd.”

”How can you talk like that, after--” And she broke off suddenly.

”Still, I think I'll go, darling. But--are you really going away--to Salisbury?”

”No. But you've got too speaking a face, Justin dear. Why on earth did you look so dismal and blank when he said that?”

”Because I couldn't help it, I suppose.”

”But you've got to help it. See here now, Justin, I can't keep you in leading-strings. You are such a great baby, you have no control over yourself. You're quite big enough, and--”

”Ugly enough? Yes, go on.”

”No, the other thing--only I'm spoiling you too much, and making you abominably conceited. Now come in, and give me just one little kiss before you start, and then I think you really had better go.”

”Promise me you won't go away without letting me know,” he urged, when the above-named process--which, by the way, was not of such very diminutive proportions as she had suggested--had been completed.

Outside, Blachland's voice directing the native servants was plainly audible.

”Yes, I promise. Now, go and say good-bye, and get your horse. No, not 'one more.' Do be a little prudent.”

”Eh? Want to saddle up, Spence?” said Blachland, as Justin went over to where he was occupied. ”All right. I say, though, excuse me; I really am rather busy. Come along, and we'll get out your horse. Have a drink before you start.”

”Thanks awfully, Blachland, I've just had one. Good-bye, old chap, don't bother to come to the stable. Good-bye.”

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