He drank rather noisily, after his fashion, and began: "My dear young lady, I think the time has come when I should expound to you--" Here he broke off and commenced singing very badly, for his voice was somewhat raucous: From Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand.
Ceasing from melody, he added: "I determined that I would drink nothing intoxicating while I was on this island that I might be a shining light in a dark place, and now I fear that quite unwittingly I have broken what I look upon as a promise." Then he, too, grew silent.
"Come," said Yva, "my father, the Lord Oro, awaits you." We crossed the court of the Water of Life and mounted steps that led to a wide and impressive portico, Tommy frisking ahead of us in a most excited way for a dog of his experience.

Evidently the water had produced its effect upon him as well as upon his masters.

This portico was in a solemn style of architecture which I cannot describe, because it differed from any other that I know.

It was not Egyptian and not Greek, although its solidity reminded me of the former, and the beauty and grace of some of the columns, of the latter.

The profuseness and rather grotesque character of the carvings suggested the ruins of Mexico and Yucatan, and the enormous size of the blocks of stone, those of Peru and Baalbec.