him through the gate of reason, not as is usual among savages--and some
who are not savage--by that of the emotions. Given the position of a
universe torn and groaning beneath the dual rule of Good and Evil,
two powers of well-nigh equal potency, he found no great difficulty in
accepting this tale of the self-sacrifice of the God of Good that He
might wring the race He loved out of the conquering grasp of the god of
Ill. There was a simple majesty about this scheme of redemption which
appealed to one side of his nature. Indeed, Hokosa felt that under
certain conditions and in a more limited fashion he would have been
capable of attempting as much himself.

Once his reason was satisfied, the rest followed in a natural sequence.
Within three weeks from the hour of his first attendance at the chapel
Hokosa was at heart a Christian.

He was a Christian, although as yet he did not confess it; but he was
also the most miserable man among the nation of the Sons of Fire. The
iniquities of his past life had become abominable to him; but he had
committed them in ignorance, and he understood that they were not beyond
forgiveness. Yet high above them all towered one colossal crime which,
as he believed, could never be pardoned to him in this world or the
next. He was the treacherous murderer of the Messenger of God; he was
in the very act of silencing the Voice that had proclaimed truth in the
dark places of his soul and the dull ears of his countrymen.

The deed was done; no power on earth could save his victim. Within a
week from the day of eating that fatal fruit Owen began to sicken, then
the dysentery had seized him which slowly but surely was wasting out
his life. Yet he, the murderer, was helpless, for with this form of the
disease no medicine could cope. With agony in his heart, an agony that
was shared by thousands of the people, Hokosa watched the decrease of
the white man's strength, and reckoned the days that would elapse before
the end. Having such sin as thus upon his soul, though Owen entreated
him earnestly, he would not permit himself to be baptised. Twice he
went near to consenting, but on each occasion an ominous and terrible
incident drove him from the door of mercy.

Once, when the words "I will" were almost on his lips, a woman broke in
upon their conference bearing a dying boy in her arms.

"Save him," she implored, "save him, Messenger, for he is my only son!"

Owen looked at him and shook his head.