his young man--your Shadow, I suppose--have permitted you to do so. But
which sort of god, pray? Korong--or Tula?"

"They call me Korong," Felix answered, all tremulous, feeling himself now
on the very verge of solving this profound mystery.

"And mademoiselle as well?" the Frenchman exclaimed, in a tone of dismay.

"And mademoiselle as well," Felix replied. "At least, so I make out. We
are both Korong. I have many times heard the natives call us so."

His new acquaintance seized his hand with every appearance of genuine
alarm and regret. "My poor friend," he exclaimed, with a horrified face,
"this is terrible, terrible! Tu-Kila-Kila is a very hard man. What can
we do to save your life and mademoiselle's! We are powerless! Powerless!
I have only that much to say. I condole with you! I commiserate you!"

"Why, what does Korong mean?" Felix asked, with blanched lips. "Is it
then something so very terrible?"

"Terrible! Ah, terrible!" the Frenchman answered, holding up his hands in
horror and alarm. "I hardly know how we can avert your fate. Step within
my poor hut, or under the shade of my Tree of Liberty here, and I will
tell you all the little I know about it."

CHAPTER XV.

THE SECRET OF KORONG.

"You have lived here long?" Felix asked, with tremulous interest, as he
took a seat on the bench under the big tree, toward which his new host
politely motioned him. "You know the people well, and all their
superstitions?"

"_Helas_, yes, monsieur," the Frenchman answered, with a sigh of regret.
"Eighteen years have I spent altogether in this beast of a Pacific; nine
as a convict in New Caledonia, and nine more as a god here; and, believe
me, I hardly know which is the harder post. Yours is the first White face
I have ever seen since my arrival in this cursed island."

"And how did you come here?" Felix asked, half breathless, for the very
magnitude of the stake at issue--no less a stake than Muriel's life--made
him hesitate to put point-blank the question he had most at heart for the
moment.

"Monsieur," the Frenchman answered, trying to cover his rags with
his native cape, "that explains itself easily. I was a medical student
in Paris in the days of the Commune. Ah! that beloved Paris--how far
away it seems now from Boupari! Like all other students I was
advanced--Republican, Socialist--what you will--a political enthusiast.
When the events took place--the events of '70--I espoused with
all my heart the