On finding that Cousin Benedict did not return to his quarters at the proper hour, Mrs. Weldon began to feel uneasy. She could not imagine what had become of him; his tin box with its contents were safe in his hut, and even if a chance of escape had been offered him, she knew that nothing would have induced him voluntarily to abandon his treasures. She enlisted¹ the services of Halima, and spent the remainder of the day in searching for him, until at last she felt herself driven to the conviction that he must have been confined by the orders of Alvez himself; for what reason she could not divine, as Benedict had undoubtedly² been included in the number of prisoners to be delivered to Mr. Weldon for the stipulated³ ransom⁴.  
But the rage of the trader when he heard of the escape of the captive was an ample proof that he had had no hand in his disappearance⁵. A rigorous search was instituted in every direction, which resulted in the discovery of the mole-track. Here beyond a question was the passage through which the fly-catcher had found his way.
 
"Idiot! fool! rascal⁶!" muttered Alvez, full of rage at the prospect⁷ of losing a portion of the redemption-money; "if ever I get hold of him, he shall pay dearly for this freak."
 
The opening was at once blocked up, the woods were scoured⁸ all round for a considerable distance, but no trace of Benedict was to be found. Mrs. Weldon was bitterly grieved and much overcome, but she had no alternative except to resign herself as best she could to the loss of her unfortunate relation; there was a tinge⁹ of bitterness in her anxiety, for she could not help being irritated at the recklessness with which he had withdrawn¹⁰ himself from the reach of her protection.
 
Meanwhile the weather for the time of year underwent a very unusual change. Although the rainy season is ordinarily reckoned to terminate about the end of April, the sky had suddenly become overcast¹¹ in the middle of June, rain had recommenced falling, and the downpour had been so heavy and continuous that all the ground was thoroughly¹² sodden¹³. To Mrs. Weldon personally this incessant¹⁴ rainfall brought no other inconvenience beyond depriving her of her daily exercise, but to the natives in general it was a very serious calamity¹⁵.
 
The ripening¹⁶ crops in the low-lying districts were completely flooded, and the inhabitants feared that they would be reduced to the greatest extremities¹⁷; all agricultural pursuits had come to a standstill, and neither the queen nor her ministers could devise any expedient¹⁸ to avert¹⁹ or mitigate²⁰ the misfortune. They resolved at last to have recourse to the magicians, not those who are called in request to heal diseases or to procure²¹ good luck, but to the mganga, sorcerers of a superior order, who are credited with the faculty²² of invoking²³ or dispelling²⁴ rain.
 
But it was all to no purpose. It was in vain that the mganga monotoned their incantations, flourished their rattles²⁵, jingled²⁶ their bells, and exhibited their amulets²⁷; it was equally without avail that they rolled up their balls of dirt and spat²⁹ in the faces of all the courtiers: the pitiless rain continued to descend³⁰, and the malign³¹ influences that were ruling the clouds refused to be propitiated³².
 
The prospect seemed to become more and more hopeless, when the report was brought to Moena that there was a most wonderful mganga resident in the north of Angola. He had never been seen in this part of the country, but fame declared him to be a magician of the very highest order. Application, without delay, should be made to him; he surely would be able to stay the rain.
 
Early in the morning of the 25th a great tinkling³³ of bells announced the magician's arrival at Kazonndé. The natives poured out to meet him on his way to the chitoka, their minds being already predisposed in his favour by a moderation of the downpour, and by sundry³⁴ indications of a coming change of wind.
 
The ordinary practice of the professors of the magical art is to perambulate the villages in parties of three or four, accompanied by a considerable number of acolytes³⁵ and assistants. In this case the mganga came entirely³⁶ alone. He was a pure negro of most imposing³⁷ stature³⁸, more than six feet high, and broad in proportion. All over his chest was a fantastic pattern traced in pipe-clay, the lower portion of his body being covered with a flowing skirt of woven grass, so long that it made a train. Round his neck hung a string of birds' skulls³⁹, upon his head he wore a leathern helmet ornamented⁴⁰ with pearls and plumes⁴¹, and about his waist was a copper⁴² girdle, to which was attached bells that tinkled⁴³ like the harness of a Spanish mule²⁸. The only instrument indicating his art was a basket he carried made of a calabash containing shells, amulets, little wooden idols⁴⁴ and other fetishes, together with what was more important than all, a large number of those balls of dung, without which no African ceremony of divination⁴⁵ could ever be complete.
 
One peculiarity⁴⁶ was soon discovered by the crowd; the mganga was dumb, and could utter only one low, guttural sound, which was quite unintelligible⁴⁷; this was a circumstance, however, that seemed only to augment⁴⁸ their faith in his powers.
 
With a stately strut⁴⁹ that brought all his tinkling paraphernalia⁵⁰ into full play, the magician proceeded to make the circuit of the market-place. The natives followed in a troop behind, endeavouring, like monkeys, to imitate his every movement. He turned into the main thoroughfare, and began to make his way direct to the royal residence, whence, as soon as the queen heard of his approach, she advanced to meet him. On seeing her, the mganga bowed to the very dust; then, rearing himself to his full height, he
 
[Illustration: The entire crowd joined in. Page 441.]
 
pointed⁵¹ aloft, and by the significance of his

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