it is perhaps twenty days

"Why do you tell me all this?" he asked at length. "I want you to know. And I am so glad!" The lilt had crept back into her voice. "I congratulate you," he replied drily. "Stupid! Oh, stupid!" she cried. "Do you not see why I am glad? It is you! Now you shall not sit forever in the darkness. You shall go back to your doctor, who will arrange your eyes." "Why?" asked Kingozi. "Why!" she repeated, astonished. "But it is 'why not!' Listen! Have you thought? Winkleman is now but a week's march from M'tela. And here, where we stand, it is perhaps twenty days, perhaps more. Winkleman would arrive nearly two weeks ahead of you. Tell me, how long would it take you to win M'tela's friendship so it would not be shaken?" Kingozi's face lit with a grim smile. "A week," he promised confidently. "You see! And Herr Winkleman is equal to you; you have said so yourself. Is not it so?" "It's so, all right." "Then--you see?" "I see." "Then we shall go back to the doctor. Oh, do you not see it is for that I am glad--truly, truly! You must believe me that!" "I believe you," said Kingozi. "Nevertheless, I do not think I shall go back." "But that is madness. You cannot arrive in time. And it is to lose your eyes all for nothing, for a foolish idea that you do your duty!" Kingozi shook his head. She wrung her hands in despair. "Oh, I know that look of you!" she cried. "You see only down your narrow lane!" Chapter 23 The Council Of War That evening Kingozi called to him Cazi Moto, Simba, and Mali-ya-bwana. He commanded them to build a little fire, and when the light from the leaping flames had penetrated his dull vision, he told them to sit down before him. Thus they knew that a serious council was intended. They squatted on their heels below the white man in his chair, and looked up at him with bright, devoted eyes.