So he was glad, indeed, when one evening, some weeks later, his Shadow, observing the sky narrowly, remarked to him in a low voice, “New moon to-morrow!  The Month of Birds will then be up.  In the morning you can go and see your brother god at the Abode of Birds without breaking taboo.  The Month of Turtles begins at sunrise.  My family god is a turtle, so I know the day for it.”

So great was Felix’s impatience to settle this question, that almost before the sun was up next day he had set forth from his hut, accompanied as usual by his faithful Shadow.  Their way lay past Tu-Kila-Kila’s temple.  As they went by the entrance with the bamboo posts, Felix happened to glance aside through the gate to the sacred enclosure.  Early as it was, Tu-Kila-Kila was afoot already; and, to Felix’s great surprise, was pacing up and down, with that stealthy, wary look upon his cunning face that Muriel had so particularly noted on the day of their first arrival.  His spear stood in his hand, and his tomahawk hung by his left side; he peered about him suspiciously, with a cautious glance, as he walked round and round the sacred tree he guarded so continually.  There was something weird and awful in the sight of that savage god, thus condemned by his own superstition and the custom of his people to tramp ceaselessly up and down before the sacred banyan.

At sight of Felix, however, a sudden burst of frenzy seemed to possess at once all Tu-Kila-Kila’s limbs.  He brandished his spear violently, and set himself spasmodically in a posture of defence.  His brow grew black, and his eyes darted out eternal hate and suspicion.  It was evident he expected an instant attack, and was prepared with all his might and main to resist aggression.  Yet he never offered to desert his post by the tree or to assume the offensive.  Clearly, he was guarding the sacred grove itself with jealous care, and was as eager for its safety as for his own life and honor.

Felix passed on, wondering what it all could mean, and turned with an inquiring glance to his trembling Shadow.  As for Toko, he had held his face averted meanwhile, lest he should behold the great god, and be scorched to a cinder; but in answer to Felix’s mute inquiry he murmured low:  “Was Tu-Kila-Kila there?  Were all things right?  Was he on guard at his post by the tree already?”

“Yes,” Felix replied, with that weird sense of mystery creeping over him now more profoundly than ever.  “He was on guard by the tree and he looked at me angrily.”

“Ah,” the Shadow remarked, with a sigh of regret, “he keeps watch well.  It will be hard work to assail him.  No god in Boupari ever held his place so tight.  Who wishes to take Tu-Kila-Kila’s divinity must get up early.”

They went on in silence to the little volcanic knoll near the centre of the island.  There, in the neat garden plot they had observed before, a man, in the last relics of a very tattered European costume, much covered with a short cape of native cloth, was tending his flowers and singing to himself merrily.  His back was turned to them as they came up.  Felix paused a moment, unseen, and caught the words the stranger was singing: