He was not more than ten paces from the verandah, and sitting thus he saw a sight that interested him strangely.

Having eaten a little of a dish of roasted meat, Owen put out his hand and took a fruit from a basket that the wizard knew well.

At this moment he looked up and recognised Hokosa.
"Do you desire speech with me, Hokosa ?" he asked in his gentle voice.
"If so, be pleased to come hither." "Nay, Messenger," answered Hokosa, "I desire speech with you indeed, but it is ill to stand between a hungry man and his food." "I care little for my food," answered Owen; "at the least it can wait," and he put down the fruit.
Then suddenly a feeling to which the wizard had been for many years a stranger took possession of him--a feeling of compunction.

That man was about to partake of what would cause his death--of what he, Hokosa, had prepared in order that it should cause his death.

He was good, he was kindly, none could allege a wrong deed against him; and, foolishness though it might be, so was the doctrine that he taught.