throughout that day the natives brought them, from time to time, numerous presents of yam, bananas, and bread-fruit, neatly arranged in little palm-leaf baskets. a few of them brought eggs as well, and one offering even included a live chicken. but the people who brought them, and who were mostly young girls just entering upon womanhood, did not venture to cross the white line of coral-sand that surrounded the huts; they laid down their presents, with many salaams, on the ground outside, and then waited with a half-startled, half-reverent air for one or other of the two shadows to come out and fetch them. as soon as the baskets were carried well within the marked line, the young girls exhibited every sign of pleasure, and calling aloud, “korong! korong!”—that mysterious polynesian word of whose import felix was ignorant—they retired once more by tortuous paths through the surrounding jungle.

“why do they bring us presents?” felix asked at last of his shadow, after this curious pantomime had been performed some three or four times. “are they always going to keep us in such plenty?”

the shadow looked back at him with an air of considerable surprise. “they bring presents, of course,” he said, in his own tongue, “because they are badly in want of rain. we have had much drought of late in boupari; we need water from heaven. the banana-bushes wither; the flowers on the bread-fruit tree do not swell to breadfruit; the yams are thirsty. therefore the fathers send their daughters with presents, maidens of the villages, all marriageable girls, to ask for rainfall. but they will always provide for you, and also for the queen, however you behave; for you are both korong. tu-kila-kila has said so, and heaven has accepted you.”

“what do you mean by korong?” felix asked, with some trepidation.

the shadow merely looked back at him with a sort of blank surprise that anybody should be ignorant of so simple a conception. “why, korong is korong,” he answered, aghast. “you are korong yourself. the queen of the clouds is korong, too. you are both korong; that is why they all treat you with such respect and reverence.”

and that was as much as felix could elicit by his subtlest questions from his taciturn shadow.

in fact, it was clear that in the open, at least, the shadow was averse to being observed in familiar conversation with felix. during the heat of the day, however, when they sat alone within the hut, he was much more communicative. then he launched forth pretty freely into talk about the island and its life, which would no doubt have largely enlightened felix, had it not been for two drawbacks to their means of inter-communication. in the first place, the boupari dialect, though agreeing in all essentials with the polynesian of fiji, nevertheless contained a great many words and colloquial expressions unknown to the fijians; this being particularly the case, as felix soon remarked, in the whole vocabulary of religious rites and ceremonies. and in the second place, the shadow was so rigidly bound by his own narrow and insular set of ideas, that he couldn’t understand the difficulty felix felt in throwing himself into them. over and over again, when felix asked him to explain some word or custom, he would repeat, with na?ve impatience, “why, korong is korong,” or “tula is just tula; even a child must surely know what tula is; much more yourself, who are indeed korong, and who have come from the sun to bring fresh fire to us.”

in the adjoining hut, muriel, who was now beginning in some small degree to get rid of her most pressing fear for the immediate future, and whom the obvious reality of the taboo had reassured for the moment, sat with mali, her own particular shadow, unravelling the mystery of the girl’s knowledge of english.

mali, indeed, like the other shadow, showed every disposition to indulge in abundant conversation, as soon as she found herself well within the hut, alone with her mistress, and secluded from the prying eyes of all the other islanders.

“don’t you be afraid, missy,” she said, with genuine kindliness in her tone, as soon as the gifts of yam and bread-fruit had all been duly housed and garnered. “no harm come to you. you korong, you know. you very great taboo. tu-kila-kila send king of fire and king of water to make taboo over you, so nobody hurt you.”

muriel burst into tears at the sound of her own language from those dusky lips, and exclaimed through her sobs, clinging to the girl’s hand for comfort as she spoke, “why, how did you ever come to speak english?—tell me.”

mali looked up at her with a half-astonished air. “oh, i servant in queensland, of course, missy,” she answered, with great composure. “labor vessel come to my island, far away, four, five years ago, steal boy, steal woman. my papa just kill my mamma, because he angry with her, so no want daughters. so my papa sell me and my sister for plenty rum, plenty tobacco, to gentlemen in labor vessel. gentlemen in labor vessel take jani and me away, away, to queensland. big sea; long voyage. we stop there three yam—three years—do service; then great chief in queensland send us back to my island. my island too faraway; gentleman on ship not find it out; so he land us in little boat on boupari. boupari people make temple slave of us.” and that was all; to her quite a commonplace, everyday history.

“i see,” muriel cried. “then you’ve been for three years in australia! and there you learned english. why, what did you do there?”

mali looked back at her with the same matter-of-fact air of composure as before. “oh, me nurse at first,” she said, shortly. “then after, me housemaid, live three year in gentleman’s house, good gentleman that buy me. take care of little girl; clean rooms; do everything. me know how to make english lady quite comfortable. me tell that to chief; that make him say, ‘mali, you be queenie’s shadow.’”

to muriel in her loneliness even such companionship as that was indeed a consolation. “oh, i’m so glad you told him,” she cried. “if we have to stop here long, before a ship takes us off, it’ll be so nice to have you here all the time with me. you won’t go away from me ever, will you? you’ll always stop with me!”

the girl’s surprise showed more profoundly than ever. “me can’t go away,” she answered, with emphasis. “me your shadow. that great taboo. tu-kila-kila great god. if me go away, tu-kila-kila kill me and eat me.”

muriel started back in horror. “but, mali,” she said, looking hard at the girl’s pleasant brown face, “if you were three years in australia, you’re a christian, surely!”

the girl nodded her head in passive acquiescence. “me christian in australia,” she answered. “of course me christian. all folks make christian when him go to queensland. that what for me call mali, and my sister jani. we have other names on my own island; but when we go to queensland, gentleman baptize us, call us mali and jani. me methodist in queensland. methodist very good. but methodist god no live in boupari. not any good be methodist here any longer. tu-kila-kila god here. him very powerful.”

“what! not that dreadful creature that they took us to see this morning!” muriel exclaimed, in horror. “oh, mali, you can’t mean to say they think he’s a god, that awful man there!”

mali nodded her assent with profound conviction. “yes, yes; him god,” she repeated, confidently. “him very powerful. my sister jani go too near him temple, against taboo—because her not belong-a tu-kila-kila temple; and last night, when it great feast, plenty men catch jani, and tie him up in rope; and tu-kila-kila kill him, and plenty boupari men help tu-kila-kila eat up jani.”

she said it in the same simple, matter-of-fact way as she had said that she was a nurse for three years in queensland. to her it was a common incident of everyday life. such accidents will happen, if you break taboo and go too near forbidden temples.

but muriel drew back, and let the pleasant-looking brown girl’s hand drop suddenly. “you can’t mean it,” she cried. “you can’t mean he’s a god! such a wicked man as that! oh, his very look’s too horrible.”

mali drew back in her turn with a somewhat terrified air, and peeped suspiciously around her, as if to make sure whether any one was listening. “oh, hush,” she said, anxiously. “don’t must talk like that. if tu-kila-kila hear, him scorch us up to ashes. him very great god! him good! him powerful!”

“how can he be good if he does such awful things?” muriel exclaimed, energetically.

mali peered around her once more with terrified eyes in the same uneasy way. “take care,” she said again. “him god! him powerful! him can do no wrong. him king of the trees! him king of heaven! on boupari island, methodist god not much; no god so great like tu-kila-kila.”

“but a man can’t be a god!” muriel exclaimed, contemptuously. “he’s nothing but a man! a savage! a cannibal!”

mali looked back at her in wondering surprise. “not in queensland,” she answered, calmly—to her, all the world naturally divided itself into queensland and polynesia—“no god in queensland. governor, him very great chief; but him no god like tu-kila-kila. methodist god in sky, him only god that live in queensland. but no use worship methodist god over here in boupari. him no live here. tu-kila-kila live here. all god here make out of man. live in man. korong! what for you say a man can’t be a god! you god yourself! white gentleman there, god! korong, korong. chief put you in heaven, so make you a god. people pray to you now. people bring you presents.”

“you don’t mean to say,” muriel cried, “they bring me these things because they think me a goddess?”

mali nodded a grave assent. “same like people give money in church in queensland,” she answered, promptly. “ask you make rain, make plenty crop, make bread-fruit grow, make banana, make plantain. you korong now. while your time last, queenie, people give you plenty of present.”

“while my time last?” muriel repeated, with a curious sense of discomfort creeping over her slowly.

the girl nodded an easy assent. “yes, while your time last,” she answered, laying a small bundle of palm-leaves at muriel’s back by way of a cushion. “for now you korong. by and by, korong pass to somebody else. this year, you korong. so people worship you.”

but nothing that muriel could say would induce the girl further to explain her meaning. she shook her head and looked very wise. “when a god come into somebody,” she said, nodding toward muriel in a mysterious way, “then him god himself; him korong. when the god go away from him, him korong no longer; somebody else korong. queenie korong now; so people worship him. while him time last, people plenty kind to him.”

the day passed away, and night came on. as it approached, heavy clouds drifted up from eastward. mali busied herself with laying out a rough bed in the hut for muriel, and making her a pillow of soft moss and the curious lichen-like material that hangs parasitic from the trees, and is commonly known as “old man’s beard.” as both mali and felix assured her confidently no harm would come to her within so strict a taboo, muriel, worn out with fatigue and terror, lay down at last and slept soundly on this native substitute for a bedstead. she slept without dreaming, while mali lay at her feet, ready at a moment’s call. it was all so strange; and yet she was too utterly wearied to do otherwise than sleep, in spite of her strange and terrible surroundings.

felix slept, too, for some hours, but woke with a start in the night. it was raining heavily. he could hear the loud patter of a fierce tropical shower on the roof of his hut. his shadow, at his feet, slept still unmoved; but when felix rose on his elbow, the shadow rose on a sudden, too, and confronted him curiously. the young man heard the rain; then he bowed down his face with an awed air, not visible, but audible, in the still darkness. “it has come!” he said, with superstitious terror. “it has come at last! my lord has brought it!”

after that, felix lay awake for some hours, hearing the rain on the roof, and puzzled in his own head by a half-uncertain memory. what was it in his school reading that that ceremony with the water indefinitely reminded him of? wasn’t there some greek or roman superstition about shaking your head when water was poured upon it? what could that superstition be, and what light might it cast on that mysterious ceremony? he wished he could remember; but it was so long since he’d read it, and he never cared much at school for greek or roman antiquities.

suddenly, in a lull of the rain, the whole context at once came back with a rush to him. he remembered now he had read it, some time or other, in some classical dictionary. it was a custom connected with greek sacrifices. the officiating priest poured water or wine on the head of the sheep, bullock, or other victim. if the victim shook its head and knocked off the drops, that was a sign that it was fit for the sacrifice, and that the god accepted it. if the victim trembled visibly, that was a most favorable omen. if it stood quite still and didn’t move its neck, then the god rejected it as unfit for his purpose. couldn’t that be the meaning of the ceremony performed on muriel and himself in “heaven” that morning? were they merely intended as human sacrifices? were they to be kept meanwhile and, as it were, fed up for the slaughter? it was too horrible to believe; yet it almost looked like it.

he wished he knew the meaning of that strange word, “korong.” clearly, it contained the true key to the mystery.

anyhow, he had always his trusty knife. if the worst came to the worst—those wretches should never harm his spotless muriel.

for he loved her to-night; he would watch over and protect her. he would save her at least from the deadliest of insults.