d, a loud cry went up once more, "Tu-Kila-Kila is great! His words are
true! He has brought fire from the sun! His ways are wonderful!"

Tu-Kila-Kila, from his point of vantage behind the curtain, strove to
improve the occasion with a theological lesson. "That is the way we have
learned from our divine ancestors," he said, slowly; "the rule of the
gods in our island of Boupari. Each god, as he grows old, reincarnates
himself visibly. Before he can grow feeble and die he immolates himself
willingly on his own altar; and a younger and a stronger than he receives
his spirit. Thus the gods are always young and always with you. Behold
myself, Tu-Kila-Kila! Am I not from old times? Am I not very ancient?
Have I not passed through many bodies? Do I not spring ever fresh from my
own ashes? Do I not eat perpetually the flesh of new victims? Even so
with fire. The flames of our island were becoming impure. The King of
Fire saw his cinders flickering. So I gave my word. The King of the Rain
descended in floods upon them. He put them all out. And now he rekindles
them. They burn up brighter and fresher than ever. They burn to cook my
meat, the limbs of my victims. Take heed that you do the King of the Rain
no harm as long as he remains within his sacred circle. He is a very
great god. He is fierce; he is cruel. His taboo is not broken. Beware!
Beware! Disobey at your peril. I, Tu-Kila-Kila, have spoken."

As he spoke, it seemed to Felix that these strange mystic words about
each god springing fresh from his own ashes must contain the solution of
that dread problem they were trying in vain to read. That, perhaps, was
the secret of Korong. If only they could ever manage to understand it!

Tu-Kila-Kila beat his tom-tom twice. In a second all the people fell flat
on their faces again. Tu-Kila-Kila rose; the kings of Fire and Water held
the umbrella over him. The attendants on either side clapped hands in
time to the sacred tom-tom. With proud, slow tread, the god retraced his
steps to his own palace-temple; and Muriel and Felix were left alone at
last in their dusty enclosure.

"Tu-Kila-Kila hates me," Felix said, later in the day, to his attentive
Shadow.

"Of course," the young man answered, with a tone of natural assent. "To
be sure he hates you. How could he do otherwise? You are Korong. You may
any day be his enemy."

"But he's afraid of me, too," Felix went on. "He would have liked to let
the people tear me in pieces. Yet he