"Almighty!" interrupted the old man again, "What rubbish is this? How can
a Spirit, white or black, have parents who are teachers?"
The weary-looking spy answered that he did not know, it was not for him to
answer riddles, all he knew was that there was great excitement about the
coming of this Queen of the Heavens, and he, being desirous of obtaining
first-hand information, slipped out of the town with his relative, and
walked more than a day's journey on the path that ran to the Tugela, till
they came to a place where they hid themselves to see her pass. This place
he described with minuteness, so minutely, indeed, that in her dream,
Rachel recognised it well. It was the spot where the witch-doctoress had
died. He went on with his story; he told of her appearance riding on the
white horse and surrounded by an impi. He described her beauty, her white
cloak, her hair hanging down her back, the rod of horn she carried in her
hand, the colour of her eyes, the shape of her features, everything about
her, as only a native can. Then he told of the incident of the cattle
rushing across her path, of the death of the bull that charged her, of the
appearance of the furious witch-doctoress who seized the rein of the
horse, of the pointing of the wand, and the instant execution of the
woman.
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