had been to find the chief Mozelkatse, without whose permission I knew it would be useless for me to attempt penetrating further.”

This new comer was of German origin, though his name smacked more of Polish or Hungarian ancestry. He was a man evidently past his prime, and his spare muscular frame, his dark hair slightly flecked here and there with grey, his sunken cheeks and high cheek-bones, told of years of care, hardship, and, perhaps, of dangers bravely faced; while the bright, black, restless eyes, the broad, high forehead, the finely chiselled lines of the mouth, and the firm erect carriage, promised intellectual intelligence, combined with a determined spirit, well calculated to cope with the chances of a life such as he was evidently leading.

“Is this, like my own, your first trial of life on the plains of South Africa? If so we have begun well,” asked Hughes.

“Oh, I could tell you of many a tale of life among the savages of the Pacific, and of years passed with the hardly more civilised tribes of North-Western India, and my very object here shows that I am not at my maiden essay,” replied Wyzinski, laughing. “Shall I tell you the history of the land, and my own views at the same time?”

“Let us light our pipes first, and have some more wood thrown on the fire. Hallo what’s all that?” said Hughes, laughing.

What was it, indeed? for on the evening breeze there came sounds of talking and laughter, and soon, over the plain, streamed the missionary’s followers, at once swelling the party to fourteen. With them were Luji and the carcasses of the lioness and the koodoo, flung across a horse, and as evening drew on there was high feasting in the camp on the forks of the Limpolulo. Meat was plentiful, and the new comers gorged themselves with it, singing, laughing, and dancing round the camp fires. The lioness was skinned, and its hide stretched out on the branches of a tree; the stars came out, and as they did so the plains around woke into life. The cries of the jackals, the hyenas, and the deer, came on the night air, and once or twice, too, a far away low rumble told of the lion in the distant mountains, seeking, perhaps, his dead mate. The air was warm and pleasant, as, reclining by the fire in front of the tent, Hughes and the missionary talked on far into the night.

“You are among a strange nation,” continued the latter. “The first history of the Zulus is that, in the year 1810, they conquered the land, but where the nation came from or how it originated no one knows. It sprang suddenly into notice under their King Chaka, who knew something of military training, and brought his army into a high state of discipline. After he had reigned thirteen years, his brother Dingaan murdered him and then ascended the throne. This wily savage at once opened out the country to the European traders and to us missionaries, and the result was that the English annexed that part of the land now called Natal. In 1829 another brother of the murdered Chaka revolted, avenged his death by killing Dingaan, and under the title of King Panda mounted the throne. He is now a very old man, some say one hundred years of age, and a very enlightened monarch, only he won’t let any one penetrate into the interior.”

“And why should you wish so strongly to get into the interior?” asked Hughes. “Is your object to found new missions, or are you seeking a crown of martyrdom?”

“Neither one nor the other,” replied the missionary, “and I must go back some six hundred and thirty years before the birth of our Saviour, to explain my object to you.”

“Go ahead!” said Hughes.

“Well, then, about that period, Pharaoh Necho was king of Egypt, and he collected a large fleet, consisting of one hundred ships, great and small, in the Red Sea, and if he had not done this, you and I would not be talking at this moment on the banks of the Limpolulo.”

“I don’t exactly see what the Egyptian king has to do with the matter. Listen, Wyzinski, there’s the lion again!”

“Well, King Necho’s fleet sailed right into the Southern Ocean, until winter came with its cold and storms, against which the frail ships of that day could not contend. They then ran for the nearest harbour, and the crews landing tilled the soil until the fine season came round again. Then, reaping their crops, with a well-filled hold they made sail for other lands, and thus those adventurous seamen roamed about the then unknown ocean, passing Aden, Zanzibar, and Mozambique, and on one occasion wintering in a beautiful inlet hereaway to the northward, called Santa Lucia Bay.”

“And were none of the ships lost?” asked Hughes.

“Some on this very coast,” replied Wyzinski; “and their crews, unable to return to Egypt, settled in this land, and it is believed by many, by none more firmly than myself, that the present race of Zulus, incontestably the finest in Southern Africa, sprang from the fusion of Pharaoh’s seamen with the then cultivators of the soil. Others go further still, and say that this now almost savage land was the ancient Ophir, discovered by Pharaoh’s fleet, and from which at a later period the ships of Tarshish drew gold, cedar-wood, and precious stones. Some of our brethren who have dwelt long in the land tell of a geological stratum promising great mineral wealth.”

“Then you are in search of gold?” asked Hughes, with a slight curl of the lip, for he could not help, when gazing on the intelligent face of the man before him lighted up by the fitful gleams of the fire, regretting that a missionary should show such a thirst for gold.

“Diamonds, gold, and precious stones are said to exist, as also vast forests of ebony and cedar-trees,” continued the missionary, gazing abstractedly into the fire; “but with these revelations came strange tales as to the existence of ruined cities almost swallowed up by giant forest growth; the remains of a mighty but extinct race, said to lie three weeks’ journey to the north and west of our settlement at Santa Lucia Bay. It is these ruins I seek.”

“And Mozelkatse’s pass is necessary to reach them?” asked Hughes.

“Yes! will you join me in the search?” replied the missionary, eagerly, pausing for a while as the other looked moodily into the embers without replying; and then continuing, “I must not deceive you as to the difficulty and even the danger of the search. Efforts have already been made to reach the ruins, and they have ever failed. The jealous care of the native chiefs surrounds them with attributes of sanctity; the terrible tetse-fly haunts the country; and the waggons must be left behind. There are danger and difficulty in the path, but it is one which has never yet been trodden by European foot. Up to the present moment all efforts made to penetrate the country have failed, and the old temples and palaces of a once glorious race, if indeed they do exist, serve as a den for the beasts of prey, or a refuge for the hardly less savage Kaffir.”

The missionary’s pale face and sunken cheek was lighted up with an enthusiastic glow. The scene was a strange one, the dancing firelight, the blue sky overhead, the far-away ghostlike outline of the mountains, the loud laughter of the Kaffirs, as they gorged themselves with eland and koodoo meat, the white tent gleaming under the starlight, and the strange cries of the wandering inhabitants of the African plain. Then, too, the words, “difficulty and danger.” Could he refuse to share them with the man who had that day saved his life?

He struck his hand into the missionary’s opened and muscular palm.

“Willingly I will go with you, sharing your danger, your triumph, or your defeat. But what about the pass from Mozelkatse? Did you obtain it?” he asked.

“No. As I told you, I was returning from the country of the Matlokotlopo, where I had been for the purpose. I had left my people at Zoutpansburgh to follow me, and came on alone, intending to camp on the banks of this river.