They clapped their hands in a set measure as they recited this hymn.  The King of Fire retreated into the temple.  Ula stood by, and whispered low with Toko.  There was a ceremonial pause of some fifteen minutes.  Presently, from the inner recesses of the temple itself, a low noise issued forth as of a rising wind.  For some seconds it buzzed and hummed, droningly.  But at the very first note of that holy sound Ula dropped her lover’s hand, as one drops a red-hot coal, and darted wildly off at full speed, like some frightened wild beast, into the thick jungle.  Every other woman near began to rush away with equally instantaneous signs of haste and fear.  The men, on the other hand, erect and naked, with their hands on their foreheads, crossed the taboo-line at once.  It was the summons to all who had been initiated at the mysteries—­the sacred bull-roarer was calling the assembly of the men of Boupari.

For several minutes it buzzed and droned, that mystic implement, growing louder and louder, till it roared like thunder.  One after another, the men of the island rushed in as if mad or in flight for their lives before some fierce beast pursuing them.  They ran up, panting, and dripping with sweat; their hands clapped to their foreheads; their eyes starting wildly from their staring sockets; torn and bleeding and lacerated by the thorns and branches of the jungle, for each man ran straight across country from the spot where he lay asleep, in the direction of the sound, and never paused or drew breath, for dear life’s sake, till he stood beside the corpse of the dead Tu-Kila-Kila.

And every moment the cry pealed louder and louder still.  “Lavita, the son of Sami, is dead, praise Heaven!  The King of the Rain has slain him, and is now the true Tu-Kila-Kila!”

Felix bent irresolute over the fallen savage’s bloodstained corpse.  What next was expected of him he hardly knew or cared.  His one desire now was to return to Muriel—­to Muriel, whom he had rescued from something worse than death at the hateful hands of that accursed creature who lay breathless forever on the ground beside him.

Somebody came up just then, and seized his hand warmly.  Felix looked up with a start.  It was their friend, the Frenchman.  “Ah, my captain, you have done well,” M. Peyron cried, admiring him.  “What courage!  What coolness!  What pluck!  What soldiership!  I couldn’t see all.  But I was in at the death!  And oh, mon Dieu, how I admired and envied you!”

By this time the bull-roarer had ceased to bellow among the rocks.  The King of Fire stood forth.  In his hands he held a length of bamboo-stick with a lighted coal in it.  “Bring wood and palm-leaves,” he said, in a tone of command.  “Let me light myself up, that I may blaze before Tu-Kila-Kila.”

He turned and bowed thrice very low before Felix.  “The accepted of Heaven,” he cried, holding his hands above him.  “The very high god!  The King of all Things!  He sends down his showers upon our crops and our fields.  He causes his sun to shine brightly over us.  He makes our pigs and our slaves bring forth their increase.  All we are but his meat.  We, his people, praise him.”