tall, spare men, light coloured, with refined, mobile faces. Here was no
negro-blood, but rather that of some ancient people such as Egyptians or
Phoenicians: men whose forefathers had been wise and civilized thousands
of years ago, and perchance had stood in the courts of Pharaoh or of
Solomon.

Their salutations finished, the three men squatted in a line upon the
floor, drawing their fur karosses, or robes, about them, and waited in
silence. Jacob Meyer thought a while, then said:

"Clifford, will you translate to your daughter, so that she may be sure
she is told exactly what passes?"

Next he turned and addressed the natives.

"Your names are Tamas, Tamala, and Hoba, and you, Tamas, are the son of
the Molimo of Bambatse, who is called Mambo, and you, Tamala and Hoba,
are his initiated councillors. Is it so?"

They bowed their heads.

"Good. You, Tamas, tell the story and give again your message that this
lady, the lady Benita, may hear it, for she has a part in the matter."

"We understand that she has a part," answered Tamas. "We read in her
face that she has the greatest part. Doubtless it is of her that the
Spirit told my father. These, spoken by my mouth, are the words of the
Molimo, my father, which we have travelled so far to deliver.

"'When you two white men visited Bambatse four years ago, you asked of