Then I felt about for my skin rug, and as I did so my hand touched something cold.

I started, and felt again.

It was a man's face--the face of a dead man, of Noma, whom I had killed and who had been laid in my hut to await burial.

Oh! then I was frightened, for Noma dead and in the dark was worse than Noma alive.

I made ready to fly, when suddenly I heard the voices of women talking outside the door of the hut.