winter--and bounded by mountains of no great height, upon whose slopes
stood the city which they had travelled far to seek. It was the ancient
city of Zimboe, whereof the lonely ruins are known to us moderns as
Zimbabwe.

At the sight of its flat-roofed houses of sun-dried brick, set upon the
side of the opposing hill, and dominated by a huge circular building
of dark stone, the caravan raised a great shout of joy. It shouted in
several tongues, in the tongues of Phoenicia, of Egypt, of the Hebrews,
of Arabia, and of the coasts of Africa, for all these peoples were
represented amongst its numbers. Well might the wanderers cry out in
their delight, seeing that at length, after eight months of perilous
travelling from the coast, they beheld the walls of their city of rest,
of the golden Ophir of the Bible. Their company had started from the
eastern port, numbering fifteen hundred men, besides women and children,
and of those not more than half were left alive. Once a savage tribe
had ambushed them, killing many. Once the pestilential fever of the low
lands had taken them so that they died of it by scores. Twice also had
they suffered heavily through hunger and thirst, to say nothing of their
losses by the fangs of lions, crocodiles, and other wild beasts which
with the country swarmed. Now their toils were over; and for six months,
or perhaps a year, they might rest and trade in the Great City, enjoying
its wealth, its flesh-pots, and the unholy orgies which, among people
of the Phoenician race, were dignified by the name of the worship of the
gods of heaven.

Soon the clamour died away, and although no command was given, the
caravan started on at speed. All weariness faded from the faces of the
wayworn travellers, even the very camels and asses, shrunk, as most of
them were, to mere skeletons, seemed to understand that labour and blows