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 dared not risk it.  He seems to dread offending me.”

“Of course,” the Shadow replied, as readily as before.  “He is very much afraid of you.  You are Korong.  You may any day supplant him.  He would like to get rid of you, if he could see his way.  But till your time comes he dare not touch you.”

“When will my time come?” Felix asked, with that dim apprehension of some horrible end coming over him yet again in all its vague weirdness.

The Shadow shook his head.  “That,” he answered, “it is not lawful for me so much as to mention.  I tell you too far.  You will know soon enough.  Wait, and be patient.”

CHAPTER XIV.

“MR. THURSTAN, I PRESUME.”