ched slow and held the umbrella over
him. As he disappeared in the distance, and the sound of his tom-toms
grew dim on the hills, Toko, the Shadow, who had lain flat, trembling, on
his face in the hut while the god was speaking, came out and looked
anxiously and fearfully after him.

"The time is ripe," he said, in a very low voice to Felix. "A Korong may
strike. All the people of Boupari murmur among themselves. They say this
fellow has held the spirit of Tu-Kila-Kila within himself too long. He
waxes insolent. They think it is high time the great God of Heaven should
find before long some other fleshly tabernacle."

CHAPTER XXVI.

A RASH RESOLVE.

The rest of that day was a time of profound and intense anxiety. Felix
and Muriel remained alone in their huts, absorbed in plans of escape, but
messengers of many sorts from chiefs and gods kept continually coming to
them. The natives evidently regarded it as a period of preparation. The
Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila surrounded their precinct; yet Felix couldn't help
noticing that they seemed in many ways less watchful than of old, and
that they whispered and conferred very much in a mysterious fashion with
the people of the village. More than once Toko shook his head, sagely,
"If only any one dared break the Great Taboo," he said, with some terror
on his face, "our people would be glad. It would greatly please them.
They are tired of this Tu-Kila-Kila. He has held the god in his breast
far, far too long. They would willingly see some other in place of him."

Before noon, the young girls of the village, bringing native mats and
huge strings of nautilus shells, trooped up to the hut, like bridesmaids,
with flowers in their hands, to deck Muriel for her approaching wedding.
Before them they carried quantities of red and brown tappa-cloth and
very fine net-work, the dowry to be presented by the royal bride to her
divine husband. Within the hut, they decked out the Queen of the Clouds
with garlands of flowers and necklets of shells, in solemn native
fashion, bewailing her fate all the time to a measured dirge in their
own language. Muriel could see that their sympathy, though partly
conventional, was largely real as well. Many of the young girls seized
her hand convulsively from time to time, and kissed it with genuine
feeling. The gentle young English woman had won their savage hearts
by her purity and innocence. "Poor thing, poor thing," they said,
stroking her hand tende