CHAPTER XXIII.
A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD.
Early next morning, as Felix lay still in his hut, dozing, and just vaguely conscious of a buzz of a mosquito close to his ear, he was aroused by a sudden loud cry outside--a cry that called his native name three times, running: "O King of the Rain, King of the Rain, King of the Rain, awake! High time to be up! The King of the Birds sends you health and greeting!" Felix rose at once; and his Shadow, rising before him, and unbolting the loose wooden fastener of the door, went out in haste to see who called beyond the white taboo-line of their sacred precincts.
A native woman, tall, lithe, and handsome, stood there in the full light of morning, beckoning.

A strange glow of hatred gleamed in her large gray eyes.

Her shapely brown bosom heaved and panted heavily.

Big beads glistened moistly on her smooth, high brow.

It was clear she had run all the way in haste.