“Mali,” she cried to her faithful attendant, as soon as she found Felix was missing from his tent, “what’s become of Mr. Thurstan?  Where can he be gone, I wonder, this morning?”

“You no fear, Missy Queenie,” Mali answered, with the childish confidence of the native Polynesian.  “Mistah Thurstan, him gone to see man-a-oui-oui, the King of the Birds.  Month of Birds finish last night; man-a-oui-oui no taboo any longer.  King of the Birds keep very old parrot, Boupari folk tell me; and old parrot very wise, know how to make Tu-Kila-Kila.  Mistah Thurstan, him gone to find man-a-oui-oui.  Parrot tell him plenty wise thing.  Parrot wiser than Boupari people; know very good medicine; wise like Queensland lady and gentleman.”  And Mali set herself vigorously to work to wash the wooden platter on which she served up her mistress’s yam for breakfast.

It was curious to Muriel to see how readily Mali had slipped from savagery to civilization in Queensland, and how easily she had slipped back again from civilization to savagery in Boupari.  In waiting on her mistress she was just the ordinary trained native Australian servant; in every other respect she was the simple unadulterated heathen Polynesian.  She recognized in Muriel a white lady of the English sort, and treated her within the hut as white ladies were invariably treated in Queensland; but she considered that at Boupari one must do as Boupari does, and it never for a moment occurred to her simple mind to doubt the omnipotence of Tu-Kila-Kila in his island realm any more than she had doubted the omnipotence of the white man and his local religion in their proper place (as she thought it) in Queensland.

An hour or two passed before Felix returned.  At last he arrived, very white and pale, and Muriel saw at once by the mere look on his face that he had learned some terrible news at the Frenchman’s.

“Well, you found him?” she cried, taking his hand in hers, but hardly daring to ask the fatal question at once.

And Felix, sitting down, as pale as a ghost, answered faintly, “Yes, Muriel, I found him!”

“And he told you everything?”

“Everything he knew, my poor child.  Oh, Muriel, Muriel, don’t ask me what it is.  It’s too terrible to tell you.”

Muriel clasped her white hands together, held bloodless downward, and looked at him fixedly.  “Mali, you can go,” she said.  And the Shadow, rising up with childish confidence, glided from the hut, and left them, for the first time since their arrival on the central island, alone together.

Muriel looked at him once more with the same deadly fixed look.  “With you, Felix,” she said, slowly, “I can bear or dare anything.  I feel as if the bitterness of death were past long ago.  I know it must come.  I only want to be quite sure when....  And besides, you must remember, I have your promise.”

Felix clasped his own hands despondently in return, and gazed across at her from his seat a few feet off in unspeakable misery.