Then he turned toward the sea, and held up his hand once more for silence.  As he did so, an answering light upon its surface attracted his eye for a moment’s space.  It was a bright red light, mixed with white and green ones; in point of fact, the Australasian was passing.  Tu-Kila-Kila pointed toward it solemnly with his plump, brown fore-finger.  “See,” he said, drawing himself up and looking preternaturally wise; “your god is great.  I am sending some of this fire across the sea to where my sun has set, to aid and reinforce it.  That is to keep up the fire of the sun, lest ever at any time it should fade and fail you.  While Tu-Kila-Kila lives the sun will burn bright.  If Tu-Kila-Kila were to die it would be night forever.”

His votaries, following their god’s fore-finger as it pointed, all turned to look in the direction he indicated with blank surprise and astonishment.  Such a sight had never met their eyes before, for the Australasian was the very first steamer to take the eastward route, through the dangerous and tortuous Boupari Channel.  So their awe and surprise at the unwonted sight knew no bounds.  Fire on the ocean!  Miraculous light on the waves!  Their god must, indeed, be a mighty deity if he could send flames like that careering over the sea!  Surely the sun was safe in the hands of a potentate who could thus visibly reinforce it with red light, and white!  In their astonishment and awe, they stood with their long hair falling down over their foreheads, and their hands held up to their eyes that they might gaze the farther across the dim, dark ocean.  The borrowed light of their bonfire was moving, slowly moving over the watery sea.  Fire and water were mixing and mingling on friendly terms.  Impossible!  Incredible!  Marvellous!  Miraculous!  They prostrated themselves in their terror at Tu-Kila-Kila’s feet.  “Oh, great god,” they cried, in awe-struck tones, “your power is too vast!  Spare us, spare us, spare us!”

As for Tu-Kila-Kila himself, he was not astonished at all.  Strange as it sounds to us, he really believed in his heart what he said.  Profoundly convinced of his own godhead, and abjectly superstitious as any of his own votaries, he absolutely accepted as a fact his own suggestion, that the light he saw was the reflection of that his men had kindled.  The interpretation he had put upon it seemed to him a perfectly natural and just one.  His worshippers, indeed, mere men that they were, might be terrified at the sight; but why should he, a god, take any special notice of it?

He accepted his own superiority as implicitly as our European nobles and rulers accept theirs.  He had no doubts himself, and he considered those who had little better than criminals.

By and by, a smaller light detached itself by slow degrees from the greater ones.  The others stood still, and halted in mid-ocean.  The lesser light made as if it would come in the direction of Boupari.  In point of fact, the gig had put out in search of Felix and Muriel.