of
this strange new development.

"Men of Boupari," Felix began, speaking with a marvellous fluency in
their own tongue, for the excitement itself supplied him with eloquence;
"I have killed your late god in the prescribed way; I have plucked the
sacred bough, and fought in single combat by the established rules of
your own religion. Fire and Water, you guardians of this holy island, is
it not so? You saw all things done, did you not, after the precepts of
your ancestors?"

The King of Fire bowed low and answered: "Tu-Kila-Kila speaks, indeed,
the truth. Water and I, with our own eyes, have seen it."

"And now," Felix went on, "I am myself, by your own laws, Tu-Kila-Kila."

The King of Fire made a gesture of dissent. "Oh, great god, pardon me,"
he murmured, "if I say aught, now, to contradict you; but you are not a
full Tu-Kila-Kila yet till you have eaten of the heart of the god, your
predecessor."

"Then where is now the spirit of Tu-Kila-Kila, the very high god, if I am
not he?" Felix asked, abruptly, thus puzzling them with a hard problem in
their own savage theology.

The King of Fire gave a start, and pondered. This was a detail of his
creed that had never before so much as occurred to him. All faiths have
their _cruces_. "I do not well know," he answered, "whether it is in the
heart of Lavita, the son of Sami, or in your own body. But I feel sure it
must now be certainly somewhere, though just where our fathers have never
told us."

Felix recognized at once that he had gained a point. "Then look to it
well," he said, austerely. "Be careful how you act. Do nothing rash. For
either the soul of the god is in the heart of Lavita, the son of Sami;
and then, since I refuse to eat it, it will decay away, as Lavita's body
decays, and the world will shrivel up, and all things will perish,
because the god is dead and crumbled to dust forever. Or else it is in my
body, who am god in his place; and then, if anybody does me harm or hurt,
he will be an impious wretch, and will have broken taboo, and Heaven
knows what evils and misfortunes may not, therefore, fall on each and all
of you."

A very old chief rose from the ranks outside. His hair was white and
his eyes bleared. "Tu-Kila-Kila speaks well," he cried, in a loud but
mumbling voice. "His words are wise. He argues to the point. He is very
cunning. I advise you, my people, to be careful how you anger the
white-faced stranger, for you know what he is; he is cru