I dragged her out of the danger to the side of the path.  I felt her pulse, which still fluttered.  I brought her, in my hat, water from the stream; and, finally, had the pleasure of seeing her return to life before the first of her friends came, wailing and lamenting, and tearing their hair, down the path.

When they found the girl unwounded, though still weak and faint, their joy knew no bounds, though I too plainly perceived that they were returning thanks to the heathen goddess whose priestess Doto was.  As for me, they once more crowned me in the most elaborate, and, I think, unbecoming manner, with purple pandanus flowers.  Then, having laid Doto on a litter, they returned in procession to the town, where the girl was taken into the chiefs house.  As we parted, she held out her hand to me, but instantly withdrew it with a deep sigh.  I closely watched her.  She was weeping.  I had noticed before that all the natives, as much as possible, avoided personal contact with me.  This fact, coupled with the reverence which they displayed towards me, confirmed my impression that they regarded me as something supernatural, not of this world, and divine.

To remove this belief was most certainly my duty, but how was it to be done?  Alas!  I must now admit that I yielded to a subtle temptation, and was led into conduct unworthy of a vessel.  Sad to say, as I search the rewards of my own heart, I am compelled to confess that my real desire was not so much to undeceive the people—­for in their bewildering myriads of foolish beliefs one more or less was of small importance—­as to recommend myself to Doto.  This young woman, though not a member of our Connection, and wholly ignorant of saving Truths, had begun to find favour in my eyes, and I hoped to lead her to the altar; altars, for that matter, being plentiful enough in this darkened land.  I should have remembered the words once spoken by a very gracious young woman, the daughter of a pious farmer.  “Mother,” said she, “I have made up my mind never to let loose my affections upon any man as is not pious, and in good circumstances.”  Doto was, for an islander, in good circumstances, but who, ah! who, could call her pious?

I endeavoured, it is true, to convert her, but, ah! did I go to work in the right way?  Did I draw, in awful colours, the certain consequences of ignorance of the Truth?  Did I endeavour to strike a salutary terror into her heathen heart?

No; such would have been a proper course of conduct, but such was not mine!  I weakly adopted the opposite plan—­that used by the Jesuits in their dealings with the Chinese and other darkened peoples.  I attempted, meanly attempted (but, as may be guessed, with but limited success), to give an orthodox Nonconformist character to the observances of Doto’s religion.  For example, instead of thundering, as was my duty, at her worldly diversions of promiscuous dancing, and ball play, I took a part in these secular pursuits, fondly persuading myself that my presence discouraged levity, and was a check upon unseemly mirth.