Hour after hour passed by slowly, and Felix and the Shadow watched the stars at the door, to know when the hour for the attempt had arrived. The eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila, peering silent from just beyond the line, saw them watching all the time, but gave no sign or token of disapproval. With heads bent low, and tangled hair about their faces, they stood like statues, watching, watching sullenly. Were they only waiting till he moved, Felix wondered; and would they then hasten off by short routes through the jungle to warn their master of the impending conflict?
At last the hour came when Felix felt sure there was the greatest chance of Tu-Kila-Kila sleeping soundly in his hut, and forgetting the defence of the sacred bough on the holy banyan-tree. He rose from his seat with a gesture for silence, and moved forward to Muriel. The poor girl flung herself, all tears, into his arms. “Oh, Felix, Felix,” she cried, “redeem your promise now! Kill us both here together, and then, at least, I shall never be separated from you! It wouldn’t be wrong! It can’t be wrong! We would surely be forgiven if we did it only to escape falling into the hands of these terrible savages!”
Felix clasped her to his bosom with a faltering heart. “No, Muriel,” he said, slowly. “Not yet. Not yet. I must leave no opening on earth untried by which I can possibly or conceivably save you. It’s as hard for me to leave you here alone as for you to be left. But for your own dear sake, I must steel myself. I must do it.”
He kissed her many times over. He wiped away her tears. Then, with a gentle movement, he untwined her clasping arms. “You must let me go, my own darling,” he said, “You must let me go, without crossing the border. If you pass beyond the taboo-line to-night, Heaven only knows what, perhaps, may happen to you. We must give these people no handle of offence. Good-night, Muriel, my own heart’s wife; and if I never come back, then good-by forever.”
She clung to his arm still. He disentangled himself, gently. The Shadow rose at the same moment, and followed in silence to the open door. Muriel rushed after them, wildly. “Oh, Felix, Felix, come back,” she cried, bursting into wild floods of hot, fierce tears. “Come back and let me die with you! Let me die! Let me die with you!”
Felix crossed the white line without one word of reply, and went forth into the night, half unmanned by this effort. Muriel sank, where she stood, into Mali’s arms. The girl caught her and supported her. But before she had fainted quite away, Muriel had time vaguely to see and note one significant fact. The Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila, who stood watching the huts with lynx-like care, nodded twice to Toko, the Shadow, as he passed between them; then they stealthily turned and dogged the two men’s footsteps afar off in the jungle.
Muriel was left by herself in the hut, face to face with Mali.
“Let us pray, Mali,” she cried, seizing her Shadow’s arm.
And Mali, moved suddenly by some half-obliterated impulse, exclaimed in concert, in a terrified voice, “Let us pray to Methodist God in heaven!”
For her life, too, hung on the issue of that rash endeavor.