me, begging me, when I opened the lattice, to come to the
palace at once.

I thought the monarch must have had some terrible attack, and
wondered what it could be, but while we were hurrying up the street
the messenger managed to make me understand that the Sultan was not
at the palace at all, but gone the day before on board the royal
proa for a state visit to a neighboring island from which he exacted
yearly tribute. Later I learned that he had tried to have the Visayan
woman go with him, but that she had wilfully refused to go. What
was the matter at the palace the ruler being gone, I could not make
out. When I asked this of the man who had come for me, he fell into
such a palsy of fear that he could say nothing. When I came to know,
later, that he was the night guard at the palace, and remembered what
he must have seen, I did not wonder.

At the palace no one was astir. The man had come straight for me,
stopping to rouse no one else. I had saved the Sultan's life. At
least he thought so. Might I not do even more?

My guide took me straight through the first court yard, and down
the narrow passage into the inner yard, around which were built
the apartments of the woman. Ahmeya, I knew, lived in the rooms at
one end of the square. The man led me towards the opposite end of
the enclosure. Beside an open door he stood aside for me to enter,
saying, as he did so, "Senor, help us."

The sun had risen, now, and shining full upon a lattice in the upper
wall, flooded the room with a soft clear light.

The body of the Visayan woman, or rather what had been a body, lay
on the floor in the center of the room, a shapeless mass of crushed
bones and flesh. An enormous python lay coiled in one corner. His
mottled skin glistened in the morning light, but he did not move,
and his eyes were tight shut, as were those of the "green devil"
after I had seen him feed.

I looked backward, across the court yard. The door of the big bamboo
cage beneath the trees was open. I turned to the room again and looked
once more. I knew now why the night guard's face was ash-colored,
and why he could not speak.

For the child of the Visayan woman I could not see.

"OUR LADY OF PILAR"

"How very singular! What do you suppose they are doing?"

"I'm sure I don't know. The American mind is unequal to grappling
with the problem of what the natives are doing out here, most of the
time. They seem to be praying. Or are they having a than