First he looked at the Asika, who nodded almost imperceptibly, then sprang on to a prolongation of the golden steps, bowed to Little Bonsa on her column behind and heaved up his knife.

Now for the first time Alan really understood what was about to happen, and that what he had imagined a stage rehearsal, was to become a hideous murder.

“Stop!” he shouted in English, being unable to remember the native word.

The executioner paused with his axe poised in mid-air; the victim turned his head and looked, as though surprised; the second victim and the priests their companions looked also.  Jeekie fell on to his knees and burst into fervent prayer addressed apparently to Little Bonsa.  The Asika smiled and did nothing.

Again the weapon was lifted and as he felt that words were no longer of any use, even if he could find them, Alan took refuge in action.  Springing on to the other side of the little platform, he hit out with all his strength across the kneeling man.  Catching the executioner on the point of the chin, he knocked him straight backwards in such fashion that his head struck upon the floor before any other portion of his body, so that he lay there either dead or stunned.  Alan never learned which, since the matter was not thought of sufficient importance to be mentioned.

At this sight the Asika burst into a low laugh, then asked Alan why he had felled the executioner.  He answered because he would not stand by and see two innocent men butchered.

“Why not,” she said in an astonished voice; “if Little Bonsa, whose priests they are, needs them, and I, who am the Mouth of the gods declare that they should die?  Still, she has been in your keeping for a long while and you may know her will, so if you wish it, let them live.  Or perhaps you require other victims,” and she fixed her eyes upon Jeekie with a glance of suggestive hope.

“Oh my golly!” gasped Jeekie in English, “tell her not for Joe, Major, tell her most improper.  Say Yellow God my dearest friend and go mad as hatter if my throat cut——­”

Alan stopped his protestations with a secret kick.

“I choose no victims,” he broke in, “nor will I see man’s blood shed—­to me it is orunda—­unholy; I may not look on human blood, and if you cause me to do so, Asika, I shall hate you because you make me break my oath.”

The Asika reflected for a moment, while Jeekie behind muttered between his chattering teeth: 

“Good missionary talk that, Major.  Keep up word in season, Major.  If she make Christian martyr of Jeekie, who get you out of this confounded hole?”

Then the Asika spoke.

“Be it as you will, for I desire neither that you should hate me, nor that you should look on that which is unlawful for your eyes to see.  The feasts and ceremonies you must attend, but if I can help it, no victim shall be slain in your presence, not even that whimpering hound, your servant,” she added with a contemptuous glance at Jeekie, “who it seems, fears to give his life for the glory of the god, but who because he is yours, is safe now and always.”