Felix, on the other hand, sobered by pain, and nerved by the fixed consciousness that Muriel’s safety now depended absolutely on his perfect coolness, fought with the calm skill of a practised fencer.  Happily he had learned the gentle art of thrust and parry years before in England; and though both weapon and opponent were here so different, the lesson of quickness and calm watchfulness he had gained in that civilized school stood him in good stead, even now, under such adverse circumstances.  Tu-Kila-Kila, getting spent, drew back for a second at last, and panted for breath.  That faint breathing-space of a moment’s duration sealed his fate.  Seizing his chance with consummate skill, Felix closed upon the breathless monster, and brought down the heavy stone hammer point blank upon the centre of his crashing skull.  The weapon drove home.  It cleft a great red gash in the cannibal’s head.  Tu-Kila-Kila reeled and fell.  There was an infinitesimal pause of silence and suspense.  Then a great shout went up from all round to heaven, “He has killed him!  He has killed him!  We have a new-made god!  Tu-Kila-Kila is dead!  Long live Tu-Kila-Kila!”

Felix drew back for a moment, panting and breathless, and wiped his wet brow with his sleeve, his brain all whirling.  At his feet, the savage lay stretched, like a log.  Felix gazed at the blood-bespattered face remorsefully.  It is an awful thing, even in a just quarrel, to feel that you have really taken a human life!  The responsibility is enough to appall the bravest of us.  He stooped down and examined the prostrate body with solemn reverence.  Blood was flowing in torrents from the wounded head.  But Tu-Kila-Kila was dead—­stone-dead forever.

Hot tears of relief welled up into Felix’s eyes.  He touched the body cautiously with a reverent hand.  No life.  No motion.

Just as he did so, the woman Ula came forward, bare-limbed and beautiful, all triumph in her walk, a proud, insensitive savage.  One second she gazed at the great corpse disdainfully.  Then she lifted her dainty foot, and gave it a contemptuous kick.  “The body of Lavita, the son of Sami,” she said, with a gesture of hatred.  “He had a bad heart.  We will cook it and eat it.”  Next turning to Felix, “Oh, Tu-Kila-Kila,” she cried, clapping her hands three times and bowing low to the ground, “you are a very great god.  We will serve you and salute you.  Am not I, Ula, one of your wives, your meat?  Do with me as you will.  Toko, you are henceforth the great god’s Shadow!”

Felix gazed at the beautiful, heartless creature, all horrified.  Even on Boupari, that cannibal island, he was hardly prepared for quite so low a depth of savage insensibility.  But all the people around, now a hundred or more, standing naked before their new god, took up the shout in concert.  “The body of Lavita, the son of Sami,” they cried.  “A carrion corpse!  The god has deserted it.  The great soul of the world has entered the heart of the white-faced stranger from the disk of the sun; the King of the Rain; the great Tu-Kila-Kila.  We will cook and eat the body of Lavita, the son of Sami.  He was a bad man.  He is a worn-out shell.  Nothing remains of him now.  The great god has left him.”