II

With ten tons of shell snugly stowed in her hold, the little Tamariki

was heading back for Vahitahi after barely two months' absence.

Brantley, as he leant over the rail and watched the swirl and eddy of

the creamy phosphorescence that hissed and bubbled under the vessel's

stern, felt well satisfied.

It was the hour of dawn, and the native at the tiller sang, as the

stars began to pale before the red flush that tinged the sky to

windward, a low chant of farewell to Fetuaho, the star of the morning,

and then he called to Brantley, who to all his crew was always

"Paranili," and never "Kapeni [Captain]," and pointed with his naked,

tattooed arm away to leeward, where the low outlines of an island began

to show.

"Look, Paranili, that is Tatakoto, the place I have told thee of, where

the turtle makes the white beach to look black. Would it not be well

for us to take some home to Vahitahi?"

"Thou glutton!" said Brantley, good-humouredly, "dost thou think I am

like to lose a day so that thou and thy friends may fill thy stomachs

with turtle meat?"

Rua Manu laughed, and showed his white, even teeth. "Nay, Paranili, not

for that alone; but it is a great place, that Tatakoto, and thou hast

never landed there to look, and Luita hath said that some day she would

ask thee to take her there; for, though she was born at Vahitahi, her

blood is that of the people of Tatakoto, who have long since lain

silent in the MARAES."

* * * * *

Brantley had often heard her speak of it, this solitary spot in the

wide Pacific, and now, as he looked at the pretty, verdure-clad island

against the weather shore of which the thundering rollers burst with a

muffled roar, he was surprised at its length and extent, and decided to

pay it a visit some day.

"Not now, Rua," he said to the steersman, "but it shall be soon. Are

there many coconuts there?"

"Many? May I perish, but the trees are as the sand of the sea, and the

nuts lie thick upon the ground. AI-E-EH! and the robber crabs are in

thousands, and fat; and the sea-birds' eggs!"

"Glutton again! Be content. In a little while we and as many of the

people of Vahitahi as the schooner will carry will go there and stay

for the turtle season."

* * * * *

Three days afterwards the schooner was within fifty miles of his island

home, when Brantley was aroused at daylight from his watch below by the

cry of "TE PAHI!" (a ship!) and hastening on deck he saw a large vessel

bearing down upon them. In half an hour she was close to, and Brantley

recognised her as a brig from Tahiti, that occasionally made a trading

voyage to the Paumotus, and whose skipper was a personal friend.

Suddenly she hove-to and lowered a boat, which came alongside the

schooner, and the white man that steered jumped on deck and held out

his hand.

"How are you, Brantley?" and then his eye went quickly over the crew of

the schooner, then glanced through the open skylight into the little

cabin, and a hopeful, expectant look in his face died away.

"Very well, thank you, Latham. But what is wrong?--you look worried."

"Come on board," said the captain of the brig, quietly, "and I'll tell

you."

As Brantley took his seat beside him, Latham said: "I have bad news for

you, Brantley. Your sister is on board the brig, and I fear she will

not live long. She came down to Tahiti in the MARAMA from Auckland, and

offered me a good round sum to bring her to you."

"Has she been ill long, Latham?"

* * * * *

Latham looked at him curiously. "Didn't you know, Brantley? She's in a

rapid consumption."

For a moment neither men spoke; then Latham gave a short cough.

"I feel it almost as badly as you, Brantley--but I've got a bit more

bad news--"

"Go on, Latham--it can't matter much. My poor sister is everything to me."

"Just so. That's what I told Miss Brantley. Well, it's this--your wife

and child are missing----" Latham glanced at him and saw that his hand

trembled and then grasped the gunwale of the boat.

"We got into Vahitahi lagoon about ten days ago, and I took Miss

Brantley ashore. What happened I don't exactly know, but the next night

one of your whale-boats was gone, and Luita and the child were missing.

Your sister was in a terrible state of mind, and offered me a thousand

dollars to put to sea. Brantley, old man, I wouldn't take a dollar from

her--God bless her--but I did put to sea, and I've searched nigh on

twenty islands, and scores of reefs and sandbanks----"

"Thank you, Latham," said Brantley quietly; "when we get on board you

can give me further particulars of the islands you've searched."

"You can have my marked chart; I've got a spare one. Brace up, old man!

you'll see your sister in a minute. She is terribly cut up over poor

Luita--more so than I knew you would be. But she was a grand little

woman, Brantley, although she was only a native."

"Yes," he answered, in the same slow, dazed manner, "she was a good

little girl to me, although she----" The words stuck in his throat.

* * * * *

Latham showed him into the brig's cabin, and then a door opened, and

Doris threw herself weeping into his arms.

"Oh, Doris," he whispered, "why did you not tell me you were ill? I

would have come to you long ago. I feel a brute----"

She placed her hand on his lips. "Never mind about me, Fred. Has

Captain Latham told you about----"

"Yes," he replied; and then suddenly: "Doris, I am going to look for

her; I think I know the place to which she has gone. It is not far from

here. Doris, will you go on back to Vahitahi with Latham and wait for me?"

"Fred," she whispered, "let me come with you. It will not be long,

dear, before I am gone, and it was hard to die away from you--that is

why I came; and perhaps we may find her."

He kissed her silently, and then in five minutes more they had said

farewell to Latham, and were on their way to the schooner.

The crew soon knew from him what had happened, and Rua Manu, with his

big eyes filled with a wondering pity as he looked at the frail body

and white face of Doris lying on the skylight, wore the schooner's head

round to the south-west at a sign from Brantley.

"Aye, Paranili," he said, in his deep, guttural tones, "it is to

Tatakoto she hath gone--'tis her mother's land."

* * * * *

That night, as she lay on the skylight with her hand in his, Doris told

him all she knew:--

"They were all kind to me when I went ashore to your house, Fred, but

Luita looked so fiercely at me.... Her eyes frightened me--they had

a look of death in them.

"In the morning your little child was taken ill with what they call

TATARU, and I wanted to give it medicine. Luita pushed my hand away and

hugged the child to her bosom; and then the other women came and made

signs for me to go away. And that night she and the child were missing,

and one of your boats was gone."

"Poor Luita," said Brantley, stroking Doris's pale cheek, "she did not

know you were my sister. I never told her, Doris."

"She is a very beautiful woman, Fred. They told me at Tahiti that she

was called the pearl of Vahitahi; and oh! my dear, if we can but find

her, I will make her love me for your sake."

* * * * *

Late in the afternoon of the second day, just as the trade wind began

to lose its strength, the schooner was running along the weather-side

of Tatakoto, and Rua Manu, from the mast-head, called out that he saw

the boat lying on the beach inside the lagoon, with her sail set; and,

as landing was not practicable on the weather-side, the schooner ran

round to the lee.

"We will soon know, Doris. It always rains in these islands at this

time of the year, so she would not suffer as I once did; but the sail

of the boat is still set, and that makes me think she has never left

it. Wait till I come back again, Doris; you cannot help me."

And Doris, throwing her weak arms round his neck, kissed him with a sob,

and lay back again to wait.

* * * * *

With Rua Manu and two others of his faithful native crew, Brantley

walked quickly across the island to the lagoon to where the boat lay.

Luita was not there, and the dark eyes of his sailors met his in a

responsive glow of hope--she had not died in the boat!

They turned back into the silent aisles of coconut palms, and then Rua

Manu loudly called her name.

"Listen," he said.

A voice--a weak, trembling voice--was singing the song of Talaloo.

"Terunavahori, bending low,

Bindeth the sandals on Talaloo's feet;

'Hasten, O hasten, lover true,

O'er the coral, cruel and sharp,

Over the coral, and sand, and rock,

Snare thee a turtle for our marriage feast;

IA AKOE! brave lover mine.'"

"In the old MARAE, Paranili," said Rua Manu, pointing to the remains of

a ruined temple. Motioning to the seamen to remain outside, Brantley

entered the crumbling walls of the old heathen MARAE. At the far end

was a little screen of coconut boughs. He stooped down and went in.

A few minutes passed, and then his hand was thrust out between the

branches as a sign for them to follow.

* * * * *

One by one they came and sat beside Brantley, who held the wasted

figure of the wanderer in his arms. The sound of his voice had brought

back her wavering reason, and she knew them all now. She knew, too,

that her brief young life was ebbing fast; for, as each of the brown

men pressed their lips to her hand, tears coursed down their cheeks.

"See, men of Vahitahi, my Englishman hath come to me, a fool that fled

from his house ... because I thought that he lied to me. Teloma was

it who first mocked, and said: ''Tis his wife from Beretania who hath

come to seek him;' and then other girls laughed and mocked also, and

said: 'AH-HE! Luita, this fair-faced girl who sayeth she is thy

husband's sister, AH-HE!' ... and their words and looks stung

me ... So at night I took my child and swam to the boat.... My child,

see, it is here," and she touched a little mound in the soil beside her.

There was a low murmur of sympathy, and then the brown men went outside

and covered their faces with their hands, after the manner of their

race when death is near, and waited in silence.

* * * * *

Night had fallen on the lonely island, and the far-off muffled boom of

the breakers as they dashed on the black ledges of the weather reef

would now and then be borne into the darkness of the little hut.

"Put thy face to mine, Paranili," she whispered; "I grow cold now."

As the bearded face of the man bent over her, one thin, weak arm rose

waveringly in the air, and then fell softly round his neck, and

Brantley, with his hand upon her bosom, felt that her heart had ceased

to beat.

* * * * *

The next day he sailed the schooner into the lagoon, and Doris pressed

her lips on the dead forehead of the native girl ere she was laid to

rest. Something that Doris had said to him as they walked away from her

grave filled Brantley's heart with a deadly fear, and as he took her in

his arms his voice shook.

"Don't say that, Doris. It cannot be so soon as that. I was never a

good man; but surely God will spare you to me a little longer."

But it came very soon--on the morning of the day that he intended

sailing out of the lagoon again, Doris died in his arms on board the

schooner, and Brantley laid her to rest under the shade of a giant

puka-tree that overshadowed the stones of the old MARAE.

* * * * *

That night he called Rua Manu into the cabin and asked him if he could

beat his way back to Vahitahi in the schooner.

"'Tis an easy matter, Paranili. So that the sky be clear and I can see

the stars, then shall I find Vahitahi in three days."

"Good. Then to-morrow take the schooner there, and tell such of the

people as desire to be with me to come here, and bring with them all

things that are in my house. It is my mind to live here at Tatakoto."

As the schooner slipped through the narrow passage, he stood on the

low, sandy point, and waved his hand in farewell.

* * * * *

A week later the little vessel dropped her anchor in the lagoon again,

and Rua Manu and his crew came ashore to seek him.

They found him lying under the shade of the puka-tree with his revolver

in his hand and a bullet-hole in his temple.