Within a week from the day of eating that fatal fruit Owen began to sicken, then the dysentery had seized him which slowly but surely was wasting out his life.

Yet he, the murderer, was helpless, for with this form of the disease no medicine could cope.

With agony in his heart, an agony that was shared by thousands of the people, Hokosa watched the decrease of the white man's strength, and reckoned the days that would elapse before the end.

Having such sin as thus upon his soul, though Owen entreated him earnestly, he would not permit himself to be baptised.

Twice he went near to consenting, but on each occasion an ominous and terrible incident drove him from the door of mercy.
Once, when the words "I will" were almost on his lips, a woman broke in upon their conference bearing a dying boy in her arms.
"Save him," she implored, "save him, Messenger, for he is my only son!" Owen looked at him and shook his head.
"How came he like this ?" he asked.
"I know not, Messenger, but he has been sick ever since he ate of a certain fruit which you gave to him;" and she recalled to his mind the incident of the throwing of a fruit to the child, which she had witnessed.
"I remember," said Owen.