"Have I not told you, Friend-from-the-Sea, that yonder hill
which is called Orofena, whence this island takes its name, is
sacred?"

"You said so, but what of it?"

"This: to set foot thereon is to die and, I suppose, great as
you are, you, too, can die like others. At least, although I love
you, had you not come away from that canoe I was about to
discover whether this is so."

"Then for what are the canoes used?" I asked with irritation.

"You see that flat rock, Friend, with the hole beyond, which is
the mouth of a cave that appeared only in the great storm that
brought you to our land? They are used to convey offerings which
are laid upon the rock. Beyond it no man may go, and since the
beginning no man has ever gone."

"Offerings to whom?"

"To the Oromatuas, the spirits of the great dead who live
there."

"Oromatuas? Oro! It is always something to do with Oro. Who and
what is Oro?"

"Oro is a god, Friend, though it is true that the priests say
that above him there is a greater god called Degai, the Creator,