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 their request that Wimbakobolo and Purleemil should be given up.

"Do not send me back," cried Purleemil, "to old Tirlta. Two wives has he slain with his waddy; let me not be the third." And she sobbed aloud.

"Cease your crying," said Wimbakobolo. "I give you up to no man, rather would I slay you with my spear. Let Tirlta," he said, turning to the elders, "be a man and fight me. I am ready but he is a coward. Men of my father's tribe, who have given us shelter, who when we were hungry gave us food, remember that in the days that are past my father was one of you, a great warrior who slew your enemies as if they were ants, so powerful was he. Even as he fought for you, so will his son in the days to come, if you give him your aid now. Long have I loved Purleemil, she with the starry eyes, and her heart has been mine ever. Can a maid at the bidding of the greybeards turn her heart to a wife-slayer, leaving the one she loves, turning from one who is young, strong, and straight, to a bowed cripple? Remember my father before you despise the help of his son before you, and his grandsons to come. We shall never go back to the tribe of Tirlta, rather will I spear Purleemil, my heart's beloved, as she stands before you, and mingle my blood with hers."

Wimbakobolo drew himself up and looked so powerful and fierce a warrior as he stood, weapons in hand, before the elders, that they said: "Fools should we be to give up the son of our old leader to our enemies. He shall lead us as did his father before him, and his Purleemil shall be the mother of warriors to follow him, for strong are the clan of Wimbakobolo, men like mountains as their name tells."