These savage women are capital hands in sickness.

Tu-Kila-Kila sat and sulked meanwhile, like a disappointed child.

When Ula had finished, she nodded her head and glided softly away.
She knew her chance of learning the secret was gone for the moment, and she had too much of the guile of the savage woman to spoil her chances by loitering about unnecessarily while her lord was in his present ungracious humor.
As she stole from the hut, Tu-Kila-Kila, looking ruefully at his wounded hand, and then at that light and supple retreating figure, muttered sulkily to himself, with a very bad grace, "the woman knows too much.

She nearly wormed my secret out of me.

She knows that Tu-Kila-Kila's life and soul are bound up in the tree.