“Why so?” Felix exclaimed, in surprise.  “Last night, surely, they were all prayers and promises and vows and entreaties.”

The young man nodded his head in acquiescence.  “Ah, yes; last night,” he answered.  “That was very well then.  Vows were sore needed.  The storm was raging, and you were within your taboo.  How could they dare to touch you, a mighty god of the tempest, at the very moment when you were rending their banyan-trees and snapping their cocoanut stems with your mighty arms like so many little chicken-bones?  Even Tu-Kila-Kila himself, I expect, the very high god, lay frightened in his temple, cowering by his tree, annoyed at your wrath; he sent Fire and Water among the worshippers, no doubt, to offer up vows and to appease your anger.”

Then Felix remembered, as his Shadow spoke, that, as a matter of fact, he had observed the men who usually wore the red and white feather cloaks among the motley crowd of grovelling natives who lay flat on their faces in the mud of the cleared space the night before, and prayed hard for mercy.  Only they were not wearing their robes of office at the moment, in accordance with a well-known savage custom; they had come naked and in disgrace, as befits all suppliants.  They had left behind them the insignia of their rank in their own shaken huts, and bowed down their bare backs to the rain and the lightning.

“Yes, I saw them among the other islanders,” Felix answered, half-smiling, but prudently remaining within the taboo-line, as his Shadow advised him.

Toko kept his hand still on his master’s shoulder.  “Oh, king,” he said, beseechingly, and with great solemnity, “I am doing wrong to warn you; I am breaking a very great Taboo.  I don’t know what harm may come to me for telling you.  Perhaps Tu-Kila-Kila will burn me to ashes with one glance of his eyes.  He may know this minute what I’m saying here alone to you.”

It is hard for a white man to meet scruples like this; but Felix was bold enough to answer outright:  “Tu-Kila-Kila knows nothing of the sort, and can never find out.  Take my word for it, Toko, nothing that you say to me will ever reach Tu-Kila-Kila.”

The Shadow looked at him doubtfully, and trembled as he spoke.  “I like you, Korong,” he said, with a genuinely truthful ring in his voice.  “You seem to me so kind and good—­so different from other gods, who are very cruel.  You never beat me.  Nobody I ever served treated me as well or as kindly as you have done.  And for your sake I will even dare to break taboo—­if you’re quite, quite sure Tu-Kila-Kila will never discover it.”

“I’m quite sure,” Felix answered, with perfect confidence.  “I know it for certain.  I swear a great oath to it.”

“You swear by Tu-Kila-Kila himself?” the young savage asked, anxiously.

“I swear by Tu-Kila-Kila himself,” Felix replied at once.  “I swear, without doubt.  He can never know it.”