The king’s back being turned, I glanced up at the window. The curtain parted for a moment, and Beela’s beaming face nodded and smiled.
“Yes,” muttered the king in a profound disturbance, “it means that an upheaval is at hand,—and a crisis!” He came and stood before me, plumping this question at me: “Do you fear the Black Face, the flame, and the earthquake?”
“Not in the least, Sire,” I smilingly answered.
“All the others do.”
“Your Majesty has not forgotten that our father was white. He taught us many wise things.”
He was smitten with a look that seemed to come from his conscience, and sank with a groan into the divan.
“Had I only been as true to my duty, and led my people to the light!” he exclaimed. “Lentala begged me to. Now I must pay, I must pay!”
I needed no recalling of my pledge to Beela, for pity held me. I looked to the window, and the radiance coming thence lighted my wits.
“There is always hope, Sire,” I cheerfully said; “we can work and hope.”
He gave me a haggard look. “You know,” he said, “the Senatras believe that unless sacrifices are made of the white people in the valley there will come no more wrecks and castaways, and that the Black Face will therefore send the terrible earthquake and eruptions which frighten our people into madness, sweep the island with fire, and destroy lives and farms. But how can a sacrifice be made? The people think that to offer up a madman would infuriate the Face and cause frightful disaster. It is impossible to bring another white man from the valley, because the colony would fight rather than give him up. Yet unless there is a sacrifice the Senatras will rebel through fear of the Face, the army will revolt, my palace will be seized, and the queen, Lentala and I, with all our friends and servants, will be put to the sword.”