Hokosa kept his promise. On the morrow of his first attendance therehe was again to be seen in the chapel, and after the service was overhe waited on Owen at his house and listened to his private teaching.

　　Day by day he appeared thus, till at length he became master of thewhole doctrine of Christianity, and discovered that that which atfirst had struck him as childish and even monstrous, now presenteditself to him in a new and very different light. The conversion ofHokosa came upon him through the gate of reason, not as is usual amongsavages--and some who are not savage--by that of the emotions. Giventhe position of a universe torn and groaning beneath the dual rule ofGood and Evil, two powers of well-nigh equal potency, he found nogreat difficulty in accepting this tale of the self-sacrifice of theGod of Good that He might wring the race He loved out of theconquering grasp of the god of Ill. There was a simple majesty aboutthis scheme of redemption which appealed to one side of his nature.

　　Indeed, Hokosa felt that under certain conditions and in a morelimited fashion he would have been capable of attempting as muchhimself.

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

　　He was a Christian, although as yet he did not confess it; but he wasalso the most miserable man among the nation of the Sons of Fire. Theiniquities of his past life had become abominable to him; but he hadcommitted them in ignorance, and he understood that they were notbeyond forgiveness. Yet high above them all towered one colossal crimewhich, as he believed, could never be pardoned to him in this world orthe next. He was the treacherous murderer of the Messenger of God; hewas in the very act of silencing the Voice that had proclaimed truthin 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 aweek from the day of eating that fatal fruit Owen began to sicken,then the dysentery had seized him which slowly but surely was wastingout his life. Yet he, the murderer, was helpless, for with this formof the disease no medicine could cope. With agony in his heart, anagony that was shared by thousands of the people, Hokosa watched thedecrease of the white man's strength, and reckoned the days that wouldelapse before the end. Having such sin as thus upon his soul, thoughOwen entreated him earnestly, he would not permit himself to bebaptised. Twice he went near to consenting, but on each occasion anominous and terrible incident drove him from the door of mercy.

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

　　"Save him," she implored, "save him, Messenger, for he is my onlyson!"Owen looked at him and shook his head.

　　"How came he like this?" he asked.

　　"I know not, Messenger, but he has been sick ever since he ate of acertain fruit which you gave to him;" and she recalled to his mind theincident of the throwing of a fruit to the child, which she hadwitnessed.

　　"I remember," said Owen. "It is strange, but I also have been sickfrom the day that I ate of those fruits; yes, and you, Hokosa, warnedme against them."Then he blessed the boy and prayed over him till he died; but whenafterwards he looked round for Hokosa, it was to find that he hadgone.

　　Some eight days later, having to a certain extent recovered from thisshock, Hokosa went one morning to Owen's house and talked to him.

　　"Messenger," he said, "is it necessary to baptism that I shouldconfess all my sins to you? If so, I can never be baptised, for thereis wickedness upon my hands which I am unable to tell into the ear ofliving man."Owen thought and answered:--"It is necessary that you should repent all of your sins, and that youshould confess them to heaven; it is not necessary that you shouldconfess them to me, who am but a man like yourself.""Then I will be baptised," said Hokosa with a sigh of relief.

　　At this moment, as it chanced, their interview was again interrupted,for runners came from the king requesting the immediate presence ofthe Messenger, if he were well enough to attend, upon a matterconnected with the trial of a woman for murder. Thinking that he mightbe of service, Owen, leaning on the shoulder of Hokosa, for already hewas too weak to walk far, crept to the litter which was waiting forhim, and was borne to the place of judgment that was before the houseof the king. Hokosa followed, more from curiosity than for any otherreason, for he had heard of no murder being committed, and his olddesire to be acquainted with everything that passed was still strongon him. The people made way for him, and he seated himself in thefirst line of spectators immediately opposite to the king and threeother captains who were judges in the case. So soon as Owen had joinedthe judges, the prisoner was brought before them, and to his secrethorror Hokosa recognised in her that woman to whom he had given thepoison in exchange for the basket of fruit.

　　Now it seemed to Hokosa that his doom was on him, for she wouldcertainly confess that she had the drug from him. He thought of flightonly to reject the thought, for to fly would be to acknowledge himselfan accessory. No, he would brazen it out, for after all his word wasas good as hers. With the prisoner came an accuser, her husband, whoseemed sick, and he it was who opened the case against her.

　　"This woman," he said, "was my wife. I divorced her for barrenness, asI have a right to do according to our ancient law, and I took anotherwoman to wife, her half-sister. This woman was jealous; she plagued mecontinually, and insulted her sister, so that I was forced to driveher away. After that she came to my house, and though they saidnothing of it at the time, she was seen by two servants of mine tosprinkle something in the bowl wherein our food was cooking.

　　Subsequently my wife, this woman's half-sister, was taken ill withdysentery. I also was taken ill with dysentery, but I still live totell this story before you, O King, and your judges, though I know notfor how long I live. My wife died yesterday,............