There in a rude coffin, fashioned of cloth stretched on poles, lay Wolta—dead. The boys watched in interest, for this was the first death they had seen since they had been in the underworld. No cover was placed over the dead man, no religious ceremony was held over the inanimate form. The coffin and its burden was carried down the dark street by two bearers. On they went until they came to a dark lake whose waters were black and evil-looking. Without any ceremony the body was pitched out into the water. It floated eerily for a few minutes, the eyes open wide and the mouth contorted into a grin. Then there was the sound of a splash and a large head appeared, followed by another and another. There was the snapping of teeth and the sound of closing jaws—and an ominous purple stain floated on the top of the lake. The boys turned away sick at heart from the horrible sight—and when they did look again—all trace of Wolta had vanished—there remained only the same stain on the bosom of the water. The two bearers calmly folded up the collapsible coffin and slung it across their shoulders;—it was quite ready for the next victim that death might claim. “It’s horrible,” said Desmond with a shudder. “I wonder whether they give all their dead to those filthy man-eating fish?” “I should think so,” answered Alan. “Their idea of burial seems worse than some of the rites of the South Sea Islanders.” Their days passed in sickening monotony, and their lungs ached for fresh air and salt breezes. They spoke to no one, saw no one but Okwa, and they were getting into such a state of nerves, they could hardly converse sanely one with the other. Okwa came in one day and intimated that they could go out. Moodily they walked down the streets and made their way to a river near by—a guard, as usual, following close behind. They sat down on the steep mossy banks that led to the water’s edge; depressed and wretched they remained moody and silent. Suddenly there came the sound of a scuffle behind them—a startled cry and a splash. A little girl had stumbled, and rolling down the slippery bank was struggling in the water. The current was very strong, and the little maid, swimmer though she was, was unable to battle with the rapids. Twice her head had disappeared from sight. In a second Alan was in the river after her, and diving down, brought her to the surface; but the whirlpools were strong and treacherous and the water deep, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that he succeeded in reaching the bank, where Desmond was waiting, in whose arms he placed the now unconscious child. But the strain he had undergone proved almost too much for him, and even as he saw the child into safety, he slipped back into the river and the boiling waters closed over his head. He rose again to the surface and with an almost superhuman effort clung to the bank, and Desmond and their guard pulled him ashore.