“Very easily, O Kalubi, by telling Komba, the Kalubi-to-be, of your plots against this god of yours, and how we have refused to listen to your wickedness.  In fact, I think this may be done at once while you are here with us, O Kalubi, where perhaps you do not expect to be found.  I will go strike upon the pot without the door; doubtless though it is late, some will hear.  Nay, man, stand you still; we have knives and our servants have spears,” and I made as though to pass him.

“Lord,” he said, “I will give you the Mother of the Holy Flower and her daughter; aye, and the Holy Flower itself dug up by the roots, and I swear that if I can, I will set you and them safe across the lake, only asking that I may come with you, since here I dare not stay.  Yet the curse will come too, but if so, it is better to die of a curse in a day to be, than to-morrow at the fangs of the god.  Oh! why was I born!  Why was I born!” and he began to weep.

“That is a question many have asked and none have been able to answer, O friend Kalubi, though mayhap there is an answer somewhere,” I replied in a kind voice.

For my heart was stirred with pity of this poor wretch mazed and lost in his hell of superstition; this potentate who could not escape from the trappings of a hateful power, save by the door of a death too horrible to contemplate; this priest whose doom it was to be slain by the very hands of his god, as those who went before him had been slain, and as those who came after him would be slain.

“Yet,” I went on, “I think you have chosen wisely, and we hold you to your word.  While you are faithful to us, we will say nothing.  But of this be sure—­that if you attempt to betray us, we who are not so helpless as we seem, will betray you, and it shall be you who die, not us.  Is it a bargain?”

“It is a bargain, white lord, although blame me not if things go wrong, since the gods know all, and they are devils who delight in human woe and mock at bargains and torment those who would injure them.  Yet, come what will, I swear to keep faith with you thus, by the oath that may not be broken,” and drawing a knife from his girdle, he thrust out the tip of his tongue and pricked it.  From the puncture a drop of blood fell to the floor.

“If I break my oath,” he said, “may my flesh grow cold as that blood grows cold, and may it rot as that blood rots!  Aye, and may my spirit waste and be lost in the world of ghosts as that blood wastes into the air and is lost in the dust of the world!”

It was a horrible scene and one that impressed me very much, especially as even then there fell upon me a conviction that this unfortunate man was doomed, that a fate which he could not escape was upon him.

We said nothing, and in another moment he had thrown his white wrappings over his face and slipped through the door.

“I am afraid we are playing it rather low down on that jumpy old boy,” said Stephen remorsefully.