“It is that he, the real Oro, rejoices that the false Oro, whose face is copied from his face, has been destroyed.  It is that he commands you day by day to bring food in plenty and lay it upon the Rock of Offerings, not forgetting a supply of fresh fish from the sea, and with it all those things that are stored in the house wherein we, the strangers from the sea, deigned to dwell awhile until we left you because in your wickedness you wished to murder us.”

“And if we refuse—­what then?” asked the priest, speaking for the first time.

“Then Oro will send death and destruction upon you.  Then your food shall fail and you shall perish of sickness and want, and the Oromatuas, the spirits of the great dead, shall haunt you in your sleep, and Oro shall eat up your souls.”

At these horrible threats both of them uttered a kind of wail, after which, Marama asked: 

“And if we consent, what then, Friend-from-the-Sea?”

“Then, perchance,” I answered, “in some day to come we may return to you, that I may give you of my wisdom and the Great Healer may cure your sick and the Bellower may lead you through his gate, and in his kindness make you to see with his eyes.”

This last clause of my ultimatum did not seem to appeal to the priest, who argued a while with Marama, though what he said we could not hear.  In the end he appeared to give way.  At any rate Marama called out that all should be done as we wished, and that meanwhile they prayed us to intercede with Oro in the cave, and to keep back the ghosts from haunting them, and to protect them from misfortune.  I replied that we would do our best, but could guarantee nothing since their offence was very great.

Then, to show that the conversation was at an end, we walked away with dignity, pushing Bastin in front of us, lest he should spoil the effect by some of his ill-timed and often over-true remarks.

“That’s capital,” said Bickley, when we were out of hearing.  “The enemy has capitulated.  We can stop here as long as we like, provisioned from the mainland, and if for any reason we wish to leave, be sure of our line of retreat.”

“I don’t know what you call capital,” exclaimed Bastin.  “It seems to me that all the lies which Arbuthnot has just told are sufficient to bring a judgment upon us.  Indeed, I think that I will go back with Marama and explain the truth.”

“I never before knew anybody who was so anxious to be cooked and eaten,” remarked Bickley.  “Moreover, you are too late, for the canoe is a hundred yards away by now, and you shan’t have ours.  Remember the Pauline maxims, old fellow, which you are so fond of quoting, and be all things to all men, and another that is more modern, that when you are at Rome, you must do as the Romans do; also a third, that necessity has no law, and for the matter of that, a fourth, that all is fair in love and war.”

“I am sure, Bickley, that Paul never meant his words to bear the debased sense which you attribute to them—­” began Bastin, but at this point I hustled him off to light a fire—­a process at which I pointed out he had shown himself an expert.