Now, when Hokosa heard these words he shut himself up in his house for three days, giving out that he was sick.  Nor would he go near to Owen, being altogether without hope, and not believing that baptism or any other rite could avail to purge such crimes as his.  Truly his sin had found him out, and the burden of it was intolerable.  So intolerable did it become, that at length he determined to be done with it.  He could live no more.  He would die, and by his own hand, before he was called upon to witness the death of the man whom he had murdered.  To this end he made his preparations.  For Noma he left no message; for though his heart still hungered after her, he knew well that she hated him and would rejoice at his death.

When all was ready he sat down to think a while, and as he thought, a man entered his hut saying that the Messenger desired to see him.  At first he was minded not to go, then it occurred to him that it would be well if he could die with a clean heart.  Why should he not tell all to the white man, and before he could be delivered up to justice take that poison which he had prepared?  It was impossible that he should be forgiven, yet he desired that his victim should learn how deep was his sorrow and repentance, before he proved it by preceding him to death.  So he rose and went.

He found Owen in his house, lying in a rude chair and propped up by pillows of bark.  Now he was wasted almost to a shadow, and in the pale pinched face his dark eyes, always large and spiritual, shone with unnatural lustre, while his delicate hands were so thin that when he held them up in blessing the light showed through them.

“Welcome, friend,” he said.  “Tell me, why have you deserted me of late?  Have you been ill?”

“No, Messenger,” answered Hokosa, “that is, not in my body.  I have been sick at heart, and therefore I have not come.”

“What, Hokosa, do your doubts still torment you?  I thought that my prayers had been heard, and that power had been given me to set them at rest for ever.  Man, let me hear the trouble, and swiftly, for cannot you who are a doctor see that I shall not be here for long to talk with you?  My days are numbered, Hokosa, and my work is almost done.”

“I know it,” answered Hokosa.  “And, Messenger, my days are also numbered.”

“How is this?” asked Owen, “seeing that you are well and strong.  Does an enemy put you in danger of your life?”

“Yes, Messenger, and I myself am that enemy; for to-day I, who am no longer fit to live, must die by my own hand.  Nay, listen and you will say that I do well, for before I go I would tell you all.  Messenger, you are doomed, are you not?  Well, it was I who doomed you.  That fruit which you ate a while ago was poisoned, and by my hand, for I am a master of such arts.  From the beginning I hated you, as well I might, for had you not worsted me and torn power from my grasp, and placed the people