As they sat there talking, with a deep and abiding sense of awe at the change (Muriel more conscious than ever now of how deep was her interest in Felix Thurstan, who represented for her all that was dearest and best in England), a curious noise, as of a discordant drum or tom-tom, beaten in a sort of recurrent tune, was heard toward the hills; and at its very first sound both the Shadows, flinging themselves upon their faces with every sign of terror, endeavored to hide themselves under the native mats with which the bare little hut was roughly carpeted.

“What’s the matter?” Felix cried, in English, to Mali; for Muriel had already explained to him how the girl had picked up some knowledge of our tongue in Queensland.

Mali trembled in every limb, so that she could hardly speak.  “Tu-Kila-Kila come,” she answered, all breathless.  “No blackfellow look at him.  Burn blackfellow up.  You and Missy Korong.  All right for you.  Go out to meet him!”

“Tu-Kila-Kila is coming,” the young man-Shadow said, in Polynesian, almost in the same breath, and no less tremulously.  “We dare not look upon his face lest he burn us to ashes.  He is a very great Taboo.  His face is fire.  But you two are gods.  Step forth to receive him.”

Felix took Muriel’s hand in his, somewhat trembling himself, and led her forth on to the open space in front of the huts to meet the man-god.  She followed him like a child.  She was woman enough for that.  She had implicit trust in him.

As they emerged, a strange procession met their eyes unawares, coming down the zig-zag path that led from the hills to the shore of the lagoon, where their huts were situated.  At its head marched two men—­tall, straight, and supple—­wearing huge feather masks over their faces, and beating tom-toms, decorated with long strings of shiny cowries.  After them, in order, came a sort of hollow square of chiefs or warriors, surrounding with fan-palms a central object all shrouded from the view with the utmost precaution.  This central object was covered with a huge regal umbrella, from whose edge hung rows of small nautilus and other shells, so as to form a kind of screen, like the Japanese portieres now so common in English doorways.  Two supporters held it up, one on either side, in long cloaks of feathers.  Under the umbrella, a man seemed to move; and as he approached, the natives, to right and left, fled precipitately to their huts, snatching up their naked little ones from the ground as they went, and crying aloud, “Taboo, Taboo!  He comes! he comes.  Tu-Kila-Kila!  Tu-Kila-Kila!”

The procession wound slowly on, unheeding these common creatures, till it reached the huts.  Then the chiefs who formed the hollow square fell back one by one, and the man under the umbrella, with his two supporters, came forward boldly.  Felix noticed that they crossed without scruple the thick white line of sand which all the other natives so carefully respected.  The man within the umbrella drew aside the curtain of hanging nautilus shells.  His face was covered with a thin mask of paper mulberry bark; but Felix knew he was the self-same person whom they had seen the day before in the central temple.