“Well I felt so ill after the journey that the rest seems all hazy. I know I participated in some of their vile religious ceremonies. I was forced into the belly of Mzata—”
“Is that the idol?”
“Yes. I remember the heat was overpowering. Then before I realized anything else, Kaweeka came and rescued me. She carried me here, and—well, old chap, the rest isn’t pleasant. The woman is a fiend. Down here there is no one for her to allure, and as I believe I was the first white man to get here alive, she gave me the benefit of her powerful wiles. She admitted me into a kind of harem, in which I am”—he laughed bitterly—“her chief husband.”
“My God,” said Alan hoarsely, “You have married her, Desmond?”
Desmond nodded. “I suppose that’s what it is—but I don’t understand much of what she says. At any rate I was taken to the temple and after a long ceremony, she came forward and acknowledged me before the congregation. Time after time I’ve been within an ace of killing myself, for the situation is unbearable. But she has spies everywhere and every chance has been taken from me.”
“Can you understand her tongue?”
“No, up to now I have only managed a very few words. I know her name. I know that Mzata is the god of their temple,—but I cannot get further than that.”
“What do you do all day?”
“Nothing! What is there to do? I go out and Kaweeka accompanies me, caressing me the whole time. Should she not come—then I am followed by her spies. The natives watch me with suspicion; they seem to lick their, lips as I pass, and long to fall upon me and throw me to the flames. I’ve seen sights since I’ve been here, and heard sounds that would make the strongest man tremble. Alan,” solemnly, “I’ve seen human beings—human beings that we knew in Marshfielden—people we respected and loved—thrown to the fire through the medium of Mzata. I saw Mrs. Skeet brought here—shrieking—sobbing—crying—and I saw her thrown into the belly of the idol. I was in the temple and rushed forward to save her, even if death had been my reward—but Kaweeka gave a signal and I was seized and bound and forced to witness her tortures. She saw me and recognized me, and as she was sent nearer and nearer the flames she cried to me to aid her. ‘Mr. Desmond! Save me! Save me!’ she shrieked, and do you know, Alan, as the flames closed over her body, I heard ‘Mr. Desmond! Save me!’ come wailing up through the fire.”
“Then that is the grave of all the lost ones from Marshfielden?”