Of course, it was rudely executed, but it was--or rather is, for I have it still--a wonderfully good portrait of her, for whether Zikali was or was not a wizard, he was certainly a good artist.

There she stands, her body a little bent, her arms outstretched, her head held forward with the lips parted, just as though she were about to embrace somebody, and in one of her hands, cut also from the white sap of the umzimbiti, she grasps a human heart--Saduko's, I presume, or perhaps Umbelazi's.
Nor was this all, for the figure was wrapped in a woman's hair, which I knew at once for that of Mameena, this hair being held in place by the necklet of big blue beads she used to wear about her throat.
* * * * * Some five years had gone by, during which many things had happened to me that need not be recorded here, when one day I found myself in a rather remote part of the Umvoti district of Natal, some miles to the east of a mountain called the Eland's Kopje, whither I had gone to carry out a big deal in mealies, over which, by the way, I lost a good bit of money.
That has always been my fate when I plunged into commercial ventures.
One night my wagons, which were overloaded with these confounded weevilly mealies, got stuck in the drift of a small tributary of the Tugela that most inopportunely had come down in flood.

Just as darkness fell I managed to get them up the bank in the midst of a pelting rain that soaked me to the bone.

There seemed to be no prospect of lighting a fire or of obtaining any decent food, so I was about to go to bed supperless when a flash of lightning showed me a large kraal situated upon a hillside about half a mile away, and an idea entered my mind.
"Who is the headman of that kraal ?" I asked of one of the Kafirs who had collected round us in our trouble, as such idle fellows always do.
"Tshoza, Inkoosi," answered the man.
"Tshoza! Tshoza!" I said, for the name seemed familiar to me.

"Who is Tshoza ?" "Ikona [I don't know], Inkoosi.