So they watched, the
women beating their bosoms and uttering strange cries, the men
stolid but scared. Trent and the boy came out coughing, and
half-stupefied with the rank odour, and a little murmur went up
from them. It was a device of the gods - a sort of madness with
which they were afflicted. But soon their murmurs turned again
into lamentation when they saw what was to come. Men were running
backwards and forwards, piling up dried wood and branches against
the idol-house, a single spark and the thing was done. A tongue of
flame leaped up, a thick column of smoke stole straight up in the
breathless air. Amazed, the people stood and saw the home of
dreadful mystery, whence came the sentence of life and death, the
voice of the King-maker, the omens of war and fortune, enveloped in
flames, already a ruined and shapeless mass. Trent stood and
watched it, smoking fiercely and felt himself a civiliser. But the
boy seemed to feel some of the pathos of the moment and he looked
curiously at the little crowd of wailing natives.
"And the people?" he asked.
"They are going to help me make my road," Trent said firmly. "I am
going to teach them to work!"
CHAPTER XXX
MY DEAR AUNT ERNIE, - At last I have a chance of sending you a
letter - and, this time at any rate, you won't have to complain
about my sending you no news.
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