Suddenly the band began to play the Kapuan national air, and all rose to their feet. After it had finished all eyes were again turned to the dancers. Slowly, gracefully they swayed their supple bodies and arms. The orchestra was silent except for the staccato time made by the sticks striking the dry mats. The dancing and singing seemed to be done subconsciously. No effort seemed to be used, yet all followed in movement, in tune and in word, the leading Tapau, each performer linking his own consciousness with the mind of the maiden as if swayed by her will. What she did and said was done and said without appreciable interval by each of the dancers. Such was the marvelous degree of the training. “This is the last,” Phil heard the count say. “It is a song in honor of the king.” Alice heard and smiled. Phil saw her lips tremble and her color pale in the firelight. “Panu-Mafili o le Tupu-e-Kapua--ah!” A solemn hush came over the assemblage. The song gained volume, faster and faster. Then a roar shook the air and the great concourse of native spectators had risen to their feet. The performers appeared not to appreciate the meaning of the crowd. Phil had risen suddenly from his chair--ready, but for what he did not know. The song had conveyed nothing to his mind. He had not understood the words, so swiftly were they sung. A glance at the count told that he, too, was in the dark. Phil was conscious of Alice’s trembling hand on his arm and heard her whisper, “They are praising Panu-Mafili as king instead of Kataafa. Avao is getting her revenge for being asked to lead. You know a Tapau cannot refuse to dance if asked by a chief.” With a final graceful sway the dancers jumped to their feet, their hands held aloft in sign of finality. The audience had now completely drowned the voices of the singers. Phil saw several chiefs rush toward the dancers. The crowd was in an uproar. The dancers gave way before the threat of those who had advanced, menacing them with bodily injury. Avao stood almost alone, a smile of defiance upon her handsome face. “Is she in danger?” Phil asked excitedly of Alice at his side. “Would they dare injure her?” Before Alice could answer Phil perceived the distorted countenance of Klinger. He had risen from his seat at some distance from the count. Phil saw him talking and gesticulating with a group of natives, pushing them forward, as if directing them to commit some act which they were reluctant to do. Avao, with unconcern in her face, appeared not to hear the torrent of abuse heaped upon her from all sides. Several women darted toward her and endeavored to tear her costume to pieces. She evaded these angry rushes, but Phil saw that the temper of the crowd would not be appeased until revenge upon this daring girl had been taken.