Gone

At length the end came very suddenly. We were sitting one evening by
Mr. Carson's bedside in his hut, when to our astonishment he sat up and
spoke in a strong, full voice.

"I hear you," he said. "Yes, yes, I forgive you. Poor woman! you too
have suffered," and he fell back dead.

I have little doubt that he was addressing his lost wife, some vision
of whom had flashed across his dying sense. Stella, of course, was
overwhelmed with grief at her loss. Till I came her father had been her
sole companion, and therefore, as may be imagined, the tie between them
was much closer than is usual even in the case of father and daughter.
So deeply did she mourn that I began to fear for the effect upon her
health. Nor were we the only ones to grieve; all the natives on the
settlement called Mr. Carson "father," and as a father they lamented
him. The air resounded with the wailing of women, and the men went about
with bowed heads, saying that "the sun had set in the heavens, now only
the Star (Stella) remained." Indaba-zimbi alone did not mourn. He said
that it was best that the Inkoos should die, for what was life worth
when one lay like a log?--moreover, that it would have been well for all
if he had died sooner.

On the following day we buried him in the little graveyard near the
waterfall. It was a sad business, and Stella cried very much, in spite
of all I could do to comfort her.