n their vote in favour of
mercy, but the majority think otherwise. They say that a law has been
passed against murder by means of witchcraft and secret medicine, and
that should we let you go free, the people will make a mock of that law.
So be it. Go in peace. To-morrow you must die, and may forgiveness await
you elsewhere."

"I ask nothing else," said the woman. "It is best that I should die."

Then they led her away. As she passed Hokosa she turned and looked him
full in the eyes, till he dropped his head abashed. Next morning she was
executed, and he learned that her last words were: "Let it come to
the ears of him who sold me the poison, telling me that it was but
a harmless drug, that as I hope to be forgiven, so I forgive him,
believing that my silence may win for him time for repentance, before he
follows on the road I tread."

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 bless