It was the white prophet who had done this thing; he had told Nodwengo of his, Hokosa's, share in the plot to murder the late King Umsuka, though how he came to know of that matter was beyond guessing.

He had watched him, or caused him to be watched, when he went forth to consult spirits in the place of the dead; he had warned Nodwengo against him.

Worst of all, he had dared to treat him with contempt; had pleaded for his life and safety, so that he was spared as men spare a snake from which the charmer has drawn the fangs.
When they met in the gate of the king's house yonder this white thief, who had stolen his place and power, had even smiled upon him and greeted him kindly, and doubtless while he smiled, by aid of the magic he possessed, had read him through and gone on to tell the story to the king.

Well, of this there should be an end; he would kill the Messenger, or himself be killed.
When Hokosa reached his kraal he found Noma sitting beneath a fruit tree that grew in it, idly employed in stringing beads, for the work of the household she left to his other wife, Zinti, an old and homely woman who thought more of the brewing of the beer and the boiling of the porridge than of religions or politics or of the will of kings.

Of late Noma had haunted the shadow of this tree, for beneath it lay that child which had been born to her.
"Does it please the king to grant leave for my journey ?" she asked, looking up.
"Yes, it pleases him." "I am thankful," she answered, "for I think that if I bide here much longer, with ghosts and memories for company, I shall go mad," and she glanced at a spot near by, where the earth showed signs of recent disturbance.
"He gives leave," Hokosa went on, taking no notice of her speech, "but he suspects us.