“Tell me, Messenger,” he added, “how it was that you were able to cure me, and who were in the plot to kill me?  There must have been more than one,” and he rolled his eyes round with angry suspicion.

“King,” answered Owen, “if I knew anything of this matter, the Power that wrote it on my mind has wiped it out again, or, at the least, has forbidden me to speak of its secret.  I saved you, it is enough; for the rest, the past is the past, and I come to deal with the present and the future.”

“This white man keeps his word,” thought Hokosa to himself, and he looked at him thanking him with his eyes.

“So be it,” answered the king; “after all, it is wise not to stir a dung-heap, for there we find little beside evil odours and the nests of snakes.  Now, what is your business with me, and why do you come from the white man’s countries to visit me?  I have heard of those countries, they are great and far away.  I have heard of the white men also—­wonderful men who have all knowledge; but I do not desire to have anything to do with them, for whenever they meet black people they eat them up, taking their lands and making them slaves.  Once, some years ago, two of you white people visited us here, but perhaps you know that story.”

“I know it,” answered Owen; “one of those men you murdered, and the other you sent back with a message which he delivered into my ears across the waters; thousands of miles away.”

“Nay,” answered the king, “we did not murder him; he came to us with the story of a new God who could raise the dead and work other miracles, and gave such powers to His servants.  So a man was slain and we begged of him to bring him back to life; and since he could not, we killed him also because he was a liar.”

“He was no liar,” said Owen; “since he never told you that he had power to open the mouth of the grave.  Still, Heaven is merciful, and although you murdered him that was sent to you, his Master has chosen me to follow in his footsteps.  Me also you may murder if you will, and then another and another; but still the messengers shall come, till at last your ears are opened and you listen.  Only, for such deeds your punishment must be heavy.”

“What is the message, White Man?”

“A message of peace, of forgiveness, and of life beyond the grave, of life everlasting.  Listen, King.  Yesterday you were near to death; say now, had you stepped over the edge of it, where would you be this day?”

Umsuka shrugged his shoulders.  “With my fathers, White Man.”

“And where are your fathers?”

“Nay, I know not—­nowhere, everywhere:  the night is full of them; in the night we hear the echo of their voices.  When they are angry they haunt the thunder-cloud, and when they are pleased they smile in the sunshine.  Sometimes also they appear in the shape of snakes, or visit us in dreams, and then we offer them sacrifice.  Yonder on the hillside is a haunted wood; it is full of their spirits, White Man, but they cannot talk, they only mutter, and their footfalls sound like the dropping of heavy rain, for they are strengthless and unhappy, and in the end they fade away.”