Why trouble her, when you will do quite as well?
If there is milk in that gourd, perhaps you will give me a drink of it." She flew to the bowl like a swallow, and next moment was kneeling at my side and holding it to my lips with one hand, while with the other she supported my head.
"I am honoured," she said.

"I only came to the hut the moment before you woke, and seeing you still lost in swoon, I wept--look, my eyes are still wet [they were, though how she made them so I do not know]--for I feared lest that sleep should be but the beginning of the last." "Quite so," I said; "it is very good of you.

And now, since your fears are groundless--thanks be to the heavens--sit down, if you will, and tell me the story of how I came here." She sat down, not, I noted, as a Kafir woman ordinarily does, in a kind of kneeling position, but on a stool.
"You were carried into the kraal, Inkoosi," she said, "on a litter of boughs.

My heart stood still when I saw that litter coming; it was no more heart; it was cold iron, because I thought the dead or injured man was--" And she paused.
"Saduko ?" I suggested.
"Not at all, Inkoosi--my father." "Well, it wasn't either of them," I said, "so you must have felt happy." "Happy! Inkoosi, when the guest of our house had been wounded, perhaps to death--the guest of whom I have heard so much, although by misfortune I was absent when he arrived." "A difference of opinion with your eldest mother ?" I suggested.
"Yes, Inkoosi; my own is dead, and I am not too well treated here.

She called me a witch." "Did she ?" I answered.