The God of Civilization: A Romance
Date: 2022-03-02T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Love stories; Dime novels; Oceania -- Description and travel -- Fiction

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Title: The God of Civilization: A Romance

Author: Mrs. M. A. Pittock

Release date: March 2, 2022 [eBook #67543]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Eureka Publishing Company

Credits: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOD OF CIVILIZATION: A ROMANCE ***

Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

I. 1, No. 1. MID-OCEAN LIBRARY. Nov., 1890.

Issued Monthly. By Subscription, $3.00 per Year.

Chicago: EUREKA PUBLISHING CO., 310 Inter Ocean Building.

WAS HE A LEPER?

A novel bearing the above title, written by the author of “The God of Civilization,” is now in press.

The story, the scene of which is laid in Honolulu, deals with the dread scourge leprosy.

Eureka Publishing Company,

PUBLISHERS.

310 Inter Ocean Building,

CHICAGO.

THE
God of Civilization.
A ROMANCE

—BY—

MRS. M. A. PITTOCK,

AUTHOR OF “WAS HE A LEPER?” IN PRESS.

Copyright 1890. All rights reserved.

CHICAGO:

EUREKA PUBLISHING COMPANY.

TO

FRANCES M. BLUMAUER,

The valued friend who pointed out to me a pleasant path wherein my feet might tread; and to whose loving advice I shall owe whatever of success I may hereafter achieve.

The Author.

Chicago, Oct., 1890.

The God of Civilization.

CHAPTER I.

“Oh! I have grown so tired of this continual round of parties, calls, and theatre going; I do wish something would happen to break the monotony of my life.”

The foregoing remark was made by Mabel Miller, who spoke in a very discontented manner.

“Why, Mabel, how can you talk of monotony? There is not a girl in our acquaintance who has more delightful changes of amusement than yourself. What with your winters, a succession of gaieties, your summers at Santa Cruz or Monterey, I don’t see how you can be so discontented.” It was Mabel’s cousin, Lucy Maynard, who spoke.

“Oh, I know that is what you always say, but it does not alter the fact that I am sick of it all.”

“Well, well, what’s the trouble? What is this, that my little girl is so sick of?” Mabel turned hastily as these words of her father’s caught her ear.

“Why, papa, I didn’t know you were here or I might not have said what I did; I ought to be contented, I know, after all you do for me.”

“Come, come; this won’t do, little girl. If you are unhappy why shouldn’t your old father know all about it?”

“I am not unhappy, papa, only I am so tired of everything. I was just saying I did wish something out of the ordinary way might happen.”

“How would a trip to Australia do for novelty, Mabel?”

“Oh, papa, do you mean it? I would like it above all things. I have always wanted to go there.”

“Well, Mabel, if you think you can be ready in a week’s time you shall go. I met our old friend Captain Gray to-day, and it seems he is bound for Australia, and is going to take his wife and two daughters along with him, and he has room for one or two more on board; so there is a chance for you to go, if you like.”

“Won’t that be splendid?” cried Mabel, clapping her hands and dancing gleefully about the room like a child.

“But, Mabel, you must remember it is a sailing vessel, and not a steamer, that you are to go on, and, aren’t you afraid that the number of weeks it will take you to reach your destination, will prove as monotonous as parties and calls do now.”

“I don’t mind the length of time that we shall be in going. I shall find something amusing I feel sure; will you go too, Lucy?”

“Oh no, thank you; you will have to excuse me;” laughed Lucy. I like the present order of things very well and will try a little while longer to find amusement in balls, and so on, and then besides there is Harry, you know, I couldn’t leave him.”

“No, indeed, I do not intend to spare both of my dear girls at once; what in the world would I do with you both away,” said Mr. Miller.

“But, papa, you don’t mean to say that you are not going too,” asked Mabel.

“Why, of course, that is what I mean; did my girlie think I could drop everything and trot off to the antipodes with her at a moment’s notice? No, Mabel, I can’t go; but you will be well cared for, as Mrs. Gray, I know, will look after your welfare as closely as would your own mother if she were living. And her two daughters will prove most delightful companions if they are half as amiable as they are pretty.”

“They are lovely girls. I met them last summer at Santa Cruz, and liked them ever so much. I know we shall have a nice time.”

“All right, then; you had better begin your preparations, as young ladies are not noted for their ability to do things up well at short notice.”

“I could be ready to go to-morrow, but as long as I have a week to get ready in I expect I shall find every minute of the time taken up, so I am off to make a beginning. Lucy, will you run down to O’Brien’s with me? I shall want a dress or so, and you are such an authority on such things, I want you with me when I choose them.”

“Yes, I will go to O’Brien’s with you; that is much more to my taste than a disagreeable, tedious voyage to Australia,” answered Lucy.

The two girls left the room to don hats and wraps for their shopping tour; and as they left it Mrs. Maynard, Lucy’s mother, who had entered the room in time to catch a part of the conversation, came toward Mr. Miller with rather a troubled look on her face, saying, “James, how can you propose such a thing as this trip for Mabel; you really encourage her in her foolish notions of dislike for conventionalities. She has no mother, poor child, to explain to her, her duties and responsibilities, and I’m sure I have tried my best, if ever a woman tried, ever since I have been living here, to make her see how foolish she is to be always wishing for some new mode of life. She almost drives me to despair with her whims and her notions. You ought to help me in my efforts for her good.”

“Come, come,” broke in Mr. Miller, “you don’t mean to say I haven’t got the good of my only child as much at heart as you have, do you? Why, that girl and her happiness is my first care in life.”

“I know, you think you are doing what is best, but James, don’t you see you have spoiled her by always letting her have her own way in obtaining what she calls happiness? You ought to realize that Mabel is now twenty years old, and it is high time she thought of marriage instead of such foolish trips as this one.”

“Oh, nonsense, she has plenty of time yet; and if she don’t happen to get married I guess I’ve got money enough to keep her here with me yet awhile; hey, Kate?”

“I might almost as well talk to the girl herself as to you. Now, why can’t she settle down to take an interest in society, as Lucy does? In a few months I shall see Lucy nicely settled in an establishment of her own; and if Mr. Howard is a little wild now he will settle down after he and Lucy are married awhile, and I had hoped that when she was married and all that, I should then see Mabel as well suited.”

“I know, Kate, you are a great little matchmaker; but you see Mabel don’t want to find a husband just yet, and I don’t want to lose her yet awhile, sister; so we will just let her alone.”

Perhaps Mrs. Maynard might have felt inclined to carry the argument further, but at this moment the two girls returned, and with them Harry Howard, the young man to whom Lucy was betrothed. Of course the subject was dropped, and the few days that followed before Mabel’s departure was so fully occupied with the arrangements for her trip that the subject was not again referred to. These last days at home were made lively by a farewell afternoon tea and a round of calls, all of which Mrs. Maynard thought necessary for Mabel to make before her departure, although Mabel tried to evade making them by putting forward the plea that she was too busy; but her aunt was firm in her purpose, saying, “My dear Mabel, you do not seem to realize what you owe to society. You must make these calls or what will people in our set say?”

“Oh, auntie, I don’t care even the least little bit what people say. I don’t care for the people in our set, which means three or four hundred people that I don’t care the snap of my finger for, anyway; and who do not care at all for me. Then, what is the use of trying all the time to keep up with society? I like my friends, and I hope I have some friends who like me really in return; but I don’t care for society, as you call it, at all.”

Mabel and her aunt were not all likely ever to have the same ideas of society, as Mrs. Maynard was one of those women who all her life had lived for society, and struggled continually to be a leader, but as yet her ambition was ungratified, for, though she was a prominent figure socially, she was by no means a leader; whereas, Mabel, having lost her mother in early childhood, had been the companion, more or less, of her father, a man kindhearted and thoroughly good, but who regarded social duties as rather a bore, and consequently Mabel saw the world through his eyes and had learned, very young, the bitter lesson of disenchantment as far as the social system was concerned. It was all a sham to her, and, as she was eighteen when her aunt and cousin Lucy came to form a part of their household, the ideas of the two girls were very different.

CHAPTER II.

The day on which the bark sailed was one of those clear, bright days that are so delightful in San Francisco, when the brisk breeze blowing in from the sea, bringing the color to the cheeks and giving one an indescribable feeling of thankfulness for the mere fact of being alive.

As Mabel stood on the deck, dressed in a jaunty sailor suit, she made as pretty a picture as one could wish to see, with the soft curly locks of golden hair blown out from under a snug little cap about her sweet face, and among the large party of friends who had come down to see the vessel off that was to carry Mabel on her eventful trip, there was at least one young man, if not more, who thought her by far, the handsomest as well as the brightest girl he knew, and felt that he would like very much to tell her so. But Mabel had a peculiar way of her own of keeping young men at a friendly distance, and the young man who looked at her with such a longing in his heart had not dared to speak of love to her, fearing to meet the fate of more than one of his acquaintances, for already she had had a number of offers of marriage, for she was not only a girl of wonderful beauty, but also exceedingly fascinating and entertaining. She had every accomplishment that could be taught a woman of the present day. Then another fact that may have had its influence on some of her suitors was that her father was what is commonly called a rich man and she an only child.

At last all was ready and the staunch little tug Relief, after much fuss and bustle and blowing of whistles, had made fast to the bark. Mabel threw herself into her father’s arms for a last good-bye. Now she stands leaning over the rail, with one hand raised to shade her eyes from the glare of the sun, and with the other waved farewell to those standing on the wharf watching the slow, majestic progress of the vessel out towards the blue Pacific.

Mabel strained her eyes for a last glimpse of the form of her father. It never entered her mind that this is the last time she may ever see him, but her heart is as gay and as light as a child’s as she joined Mrs. Gray and her two daughters who are talking with a man of perhaps thirty, who is dressed in the pronounced English style.

As Mabel had already met Mr. Allen Thornton, who was a fellow passenger, she fell quickly into conversation with the group. Allen Thornton was saying to Mrs. Gray, “Well, you know I had intended to take the steamer for Melbourne, but reached San Francisco a day too late for the steamer, and as I should have to wait about a month for the next one, then finding that your vessel was to leave in a day or so with a pleasant little party on board, and as I have a fondness for pleasant little parties rather than large ones, not so agreeable, here I am. I do hope you ladies are going to be awfully nice to me and try to do everything in your power to make the trip a pleasant one for me.”

At which the three girls laughed heartily, and Etta, the younger of the Gray girls, answered him with, “Oh, we’ll make it pleasant for you, if waiting on us can make it so. I was just saying how nice it was to have a young man along to wait upon us all the time as you won’t have another thing in the world to do, and we shall have to keep you busy.”

“Oh, this is something simply fearful. I thought, being the only man in this little party of idlers, you would vie with each other in your efforts to amuse me; but alas, instead of that, you intend to use the advantage of your superior number to reduce me to the level of a slave.”

“Don’t you wish you were safe on shore again,?” laughed Etta.

“I do not dare to say I wish it or you may perhaps throw me overboard and tell me to strike out for the shore. No, I will try to bear your tyranny,” saying which he settled himself comfortably in a big bamboo chair, and after asking of the ladies permission to smoke and being granted his request, he lit his pipe. He certainly looked as if he were going to make the best of his lot.

CHAPTER III.

The days passed more rapidly than Mabel had any idea they would, and a delightful time they had, too. Reading, card playing, and an occasional old-fashioned candy making enlivened the time. They really did not heed the passage of time as the vessel, day after day, brought them farther into that realm of delight—the tropics. All day long they lie lazily on deck under an awning that had been put up to protect them from the fervid rays of the glorious king of day, and drink in the fresh sea air so warm, yet so refreshing, so delicious.

The party had become so imbued with truly tropical indolence, that now, even reading was abandoned by them. They were having a desultory conversation one afternoon when it occurred to them that a pleasant diversion would be to relate any strange events that had ever happened to any of them, and then weave the whole into one romance, drawing on their imaginations, of course, to make the final story more thrilling.

“Now,” cried Mabel, “Mr. Thornton, as you were the one to propose the scheme, you must be the first to tell of the events in your life that are worthy to be written in our crazy-patch story, which, I am sure, will astonish the whole world when we allow it to read our wonderful productions.”

“All right, Miss Miller; but as you are the one to propose giving our story the honor of being written I move that you be the one to write down all the events that have, in the past, happened to our party,” Mr. Thornton answered with a laugh, as Mabel made a wry face at being picked out as the one to do the only physical labor connected with the plan.

“Wait until I run down and get a blank book which I have in my cabin, and we shall be under full sail,” saying which Mr. Thornton disappeared down the companion way, returning with blank book and pencil. “Now, Miss Mabel, to work.”

“But,” said she, “how can I write anything until you have told me what to write.”

“By Jove, I forgot you were waiting for me to begin. Let me see, to begin with I was born at a very early age, and——”

“Now stop, Mr. Thornton, we won’t allow any such old joke as that to go with our romance,” cried Etta.

“Very well, then; I was born at Brighton, England. Now, really, girls, I don’t see where I’m going to find the romance or strange events in my life. I’m in despair.”

“That isn’t fair, Mr. Thornton,” said Mabel, “you’ve got to go on now. I warrant you have a romance you don’t want us to know anything about.”

“Well, here goes then. I was born at Brighton, England, and lived there the first fifteen years of my life. When I was about a year old my father, who was a sea captain, left home in his ship for the very port which we are bound for, but which he never reached, as his vessel was lost with all on board and was never heard from. I lived with my widowed mother until I was fifteen, at which time she died, leaving me alone in the world, as I had no brother or sister and but one relative, an uncle, who, at about the time I was born, had gone to Australia, where he had large interests in some of the gold mines in that region. After my uncle learned of my mother’s death he sent me to school and college, in the meantime putting a liberal amount of money at my disposal, and when I left college I had a letter from him saying that he now wished me to come out to Australia and live with him, to take an interest in his large business; in fact to occupy the place of a son to him, as he was childless. Now you would think of course I did as he wished, but I did not, and why? All because a pretty little girl, with rosy cheeks and roguish, laughing eyes, had too strong an attraction for me; but I should have known that those laughing eyes could have looked as lovingly at other admirers as myself. But I trusted my little darling, even when with her arms around my neck she told me that ‘papa must not know of our engagement just yet.’ What difference did it make to me so long as I knew she loved me, even if she did dance half the night and idle away half the day with that young idiot Grayson, whose father is worth his millions. I knew that she loved me, but one day I awoke from my dream. What was this I held in my hand—a card to a wedding? Was I going mad or had my eyes played me false? No, my God, no; it was there printed on the card I held in my hand—‘Helen Jessup to Herbert Grayson.’ Yes, it was my darling’s name. I dropped my head on my hands and gave way to my agony. But finally recovering myself I resolved to go to Helen and ask her what it meant; so dashing out of the house I was soon in a cab going rapidly toward her father’s house. I hardly gave the cab time to stop before I sprang out and rushed up the steps and rang at the door. I asked for Helen. The servant hesitated a moment and then said, ‘Miss Jessup is at home, but I do not know whether she will see anyone or not. I will ask, if you will step into the parlor, sir.’ I went in, my head in a whirl. I was hardly seated when Helen rushed in—a vision of loveliness in white—and actually threw herself in my arms, exclaiming, ‘You darling Allen; I know what you are going to say, but don’t say it, dearest, for my heart is broken, too.’

“‘What do you mean,’ I cried, ‘your heart broken? Who has broken it, may I ask?’

“‘Allen dear, don’t look at me that way; I cannot endure it. You look as if you blamed me for what has happened.’

“‘And who, pray, is to blame?’ I found breath to ask. At which she melted into tears and cried, ‘You don’t love me any more.’

“I was almost dumb with astonishment. ‘You don’t expect me to love you when you are going to marry another man, do you,?’ I gasped.

“‘Don’t you see how it is; I love you and always shall love you. Really, I could not marry you after papa found that your income from your mother’s estate was only four hundred pounds a year. Now, dearest, you know I could not dress decently on that. No, I had to marry Herbert, but I do not love him and never shall.’

“‘Why, Helen,’ I cried, ‘why did you not say it was money, not love, that you wanted, and I could have told you I have an allowance of five thousand pounds a year from my uncle, who is one of the wealthiest men in Australia.’

“‘Why didn’t you tell me that before; it would have made all the difference in the world. I don’t see what I can do now, unless I get up an awful quarrel with Herbert, and I will do that if I can.’

“I was shocked beyond all expression. This grasping, money-loving woman, who did not hesitate to say that she loved one man, when she was on the eve of marrying another. Could it be my Helen, whom I had thought the soul of innocence and goodness, all girlish love and yielding tenderness?

“I turned from her with a feeling that was almost loathing. I could not answer one word, but took my hat and left her presence forever.

“The next day found me with a ticket for New York in my pocket, and a determination to spend the rest of my life with my uncle, and, in a new country begin a new life. Such, young ladies, is my story so far; what will happen hereafter is a sealed book, as yet. Now, Miss Etta, give us your story next.”

Scarcely had Allen Thornton uttered these words, when they were suddenly aroused by the sharp ringing of the ship’s bell, and, at the same moment Mrs. Gray appeared on the deck, her face white and her whole manner one of alarm. The young people sprang to their feet and ran toward her, crying out “what is it,”? “what has happened”?, “what is the matter,?” all talking at once in breathless excitement, presenting a strange contrast to the picture they had formed a moment before, of perfect comfort and contentment.

Mrs. Gray did not speak, but dropped into a chair as if utterly helpless.

“What is it,” again cried Etta.

Mrs. Gray raised her head and uttered that one word, so terrible to hear at sea: “Fire!!”

“O, mamma, is the ship on fire?”

By this time Mrs. Gray had recovered her composure, and, answered, “yes, on fire. Do what you can quickly to save what valuables you have. Your father says there is considerable powder in the vessel, and, that we shall probably have to take to the boats to save our lives.”

Indeed, already while they had been speaking, the men had been busy supplying the life boats with barrels of sea biscuit, and salt beef, and casks of fresh water and other necessities; and the scene which had so lately been one of placid enjoyment, had, in a moment been turned into the wildest confusion. Sailors running here and there, officers shouting out orders, and above it all, the smoke arising in dense clouds. The life boats were soon ready for their precious human freight. Into one boat Mrs. Gray, Allen Thornton, the three girls, the captain and four sailors went, the rest of the crew taking another boat. The men set the sails on the captain’s boat, and, as there was a brisk breeze blowing, together with the fact that the men bent manfully to the oars, they were soon a safe distance from the burning ship, and looking back could see the flames bursting out all over her.

All at once there was a frightful noise, and as they looked, they saw the vessel torn asunder, portions of her being thrown high in the air. It was as if she had lifted herself out of her watery bed in one wild leap of joy, at no longer being under the control of human hands, but left to the mad caprice, of the wild elements—fire and water. As a portion of the smoke cleared away the now shipwrecked watchers could see that she has been completely shattered by the terrible explosion, and, that what had been so lately a noble vessel, breasting the waves with majestic calm, was now gone from the face of the waters; no more should she sail away with her sails bellying in the breeze, her flag and pennon floating gaily at her mastheads; no more should loving eyes gaze out over the harbor bar with longing anxiety for her coming, bringing loved ones home. No, she had gone, gone forever.

The day passed slowly enough to our friends. All through the afternoon they kept in sight of the other boat load of fellow sufferers. As the day advanced, the breeze, which had been blowing all day, was a strong gale by the time night had fallen, with that suddenness, which seems, in a moment, to envelop the sea and earth as with a dark shroud dropped by mysterious hand from heaven.

There is in the tropics no gentle approach of night, no soft shades of twilight, that time when all heaven and earth is hushed in dreamy, restful quiet; that time between the busy, gay and garish day and the dark, gruesome night. The darkness seemed to increase the uneasiness of all on board the little craft as they were afraid the high winds might drive them against some of the large pieces of wreckage which, before nightfall they had seen not far from them; and if such an accident happened to them there would be little chance of their escaping a most horrible death. But their fears from that source were fortunately not realized.

At last morning dawned, but bringing no abatement of the storm; in fact, the southerly gale had increased to almost a hurricane in violence.

All day long the wind and sea raged, the seas breaking over the frail craft time and again. Not a mouthful of food was taken by any of the wretched party, as they did not dare to relax their hold on the boat to which they clung in the agony of despair. After hours of this horrible battling with the sea, Mrs. Gray feebly called out, “I can keep my hold no longer. My strength is almost gone. Good-bye my loved ones.”

Captain Gray made an effort to reach her but he had been thrown from his feet to the bottom of the boat a moment before, and his leg was now held by a cask that had fallen on him, and before any one could reach Mrs. Gray, another sea had swept the unfortunate boat, and, tearing her from her feeble hold had carried her far beyond the reach of assistance. The storm continued but a short time longer to vent its fury on the ill-fated occupants of the life-boat, and shortly after Mrs. Gray was swept away it passed on to the north in search of new victims; but left behind it a long angry swell, the vast bosom of the deep, heaving and swelling.

The grey and sullen skies, from which the rain now came in a soft shower, like a child denied some wished for toy, who cries and stamps its foot in rage, then finally sobs itself to sleep. All through the night the swells continued, but by morning had almost disappeared and the sun shown from a clear sky, with a genial warmth.

By noon, the clothes of the drenched party were dry and they had set to work to find what was left to them, after the storm, of their supply of provisions. They found the barrel of beef all right, the sea biscuit a little water-soaked, and set to work spreading the biscuit in the sun to dry. The barrels had all been firmly lashed to the boat so they had stood the stress of the storm with but little damage, but, to their horror, they found when they came to examine the water cask that was also lashed to the boat, that during the storm its side had been stove in, letting almost all the water escape, so that now there remained but a few pints of the precious liquid in the bottom of the cask. It was realized by all that the danger they now had most to fear was lack of water. After having eaten heartily of the sea biscuit and beef, that to satisfy their immediate thirst, would take all the water remaining, but they contented themselves with a mere sip, just enough to moisten their parched lips.

Carrie Gray, who had always been a delicate girl, was completely prostrated by the terror and hardships which she had undergone the past few days, and the loss of her mother preyed upon her mind so constantly, that by the evening of the third day she was raging with fever, and her father and sister denied themselves of their share of water, only dampening their lips and tongues with a few drops, so that Carrie might have all to relieve her sufferings as much as possible.

CHAPTER V.

“Captain Gray, have you any idea where we are?” asked Allen Thornton, on the afternoon of the third day.

It was not the first time that the query had been on the lips of more than one of the unfortunates, but each time they had dreaded to ask the question, as they feared the answer.

“I can not say exactly, of course,” answered Captain Gray, “but as the wind that has been treating us so unmercifully, was from the southeast we have been keeping, apparently, a course, more or less, to the northwest, and I should say we are considerably northwest of our position when we left the ship.”

“Do we stand much chance of being picked up by some passing ship, Captain?” asked Mabel.

“No, I’m afraid we do not,” answered the captain, “as we are rather out of the line of ship travel. You see, the winds had been quite light for several days before we abandoned the vessel, and what headway we made was entirely to the westward, so that we were considerably farther west than the usual course of vessels.”

“Then we may as well make up our minds to die first as last, is that the way of it, Captain?” asked Allen.

“No, we will not give up yet by any means. Do you remember, Etta, the day before we left the ship, when I was marking our position on the chart, you asked me what all those little black dots, extending in a curved line almost ahead of us, were?”

“Yes, papa, I do indeed, and you said they were little islands, or reefs that had been sighted from time to time by some vessel.”

“Well, there lies our chance for safety,” said the captain. “We are now considerably nearer them, I should judge, and we may be able to make one of those islands.”

“How long will it take us to reach the islands, do you suppose?” asked Mabel.

“Well, I can’t say that we will ever reach them, my dear Mabel, I can only hope so; but even if we do, we may be no better off, as some of them are simply coral reefs, others barren and desolate, being of recent volcanic origin, while still others are inhabited by the fiercest tribes of cannibals. They are, for the most part, unexplored, as they are in latitudes where storms from the south, such as we have passed through, are of frequent occurrence, and the quantity of reefs make the approach to them a matter of great peril.”

“Well, Mabel, we will keep up stout hearts and hope for the best, won’t we?” said Allen.

Etta had sat listening to all her father had said, saying but little until now, but as Carrie, whose head was resting in Etta’s lap, moved restlessly and moaned, “Water, give me some water.”

It seemed that Etta could stand it no longer and she cried, “Oh, papa, we must get there right away. Can’t something be done to help us on? Carrie can not endure this horrible heat much longer, without shelter, and the water is all gone.”

“All gone?” the words seemed to be fairly shrieked by the horrified group, for they knew that under this burning sky they could none of them exist long without water.

Her father was the first to ask where the supply had gone, that an hour before he had thought sufficient, at the rate they were using it, for at least two days, and now it was all gone. “Who used it,” Captain Gray asked sternly?

“I did,” said Etta, “don’t blame me, papa, I could not help it, I have given it to Carrie. I could not endure it any longer to see her suffering so. I had to give it to her.”

Captain Gray bowed his head in his hands for a moment, then taking Etta’s hand in his, asked in a broken voice, “Do you know what you have done my child? You have doomed us all to a horrible death.”

“Don’t papa, don’t. I could not bear to see her die, calling for water when there was still a little that she might have.”

“But what can we do for her now, the water is all gone, and her fever higher than ever. My God! Must I see my loved ones die, and be powerless to help them. My wife torn from me by the relentless waves, and now, my darling daughter dying before my eyes. Would to God I could die; but, to live on bereft of those dearest to me, I shudder at the thought.”

The morning of the fourth day broke, hot, oh, so hot. The air was like a breath from a furnace, scorching, and parching the occupants of the boat. Carrie was raving wildly, and calling constantly for water, but not even a drop was to be had. Her agonized father, and sister could do nothing for her, and death came to release her from her horrible sufferings about one o’clock, as near as they could judge, as the watches of both the captain and Allen had stopped during the storm and they had set them by guess.

Knowing that they could not keep the body of Carrie any length of time, and fully realizing the fact that they were all fast losing strength, Allen Thornton, assisted by two of the sailors, committed the remains to the sea. It was horrible to think of doing so, as sharks had been following the boat for some time past, and, here and there the shining dorsal fin of a sluggish, slow moving monster of the deep could be seen glistening in the sunlight. Etta was spared the torture of seeing her loved sister’s body given up to such a fate, owing to the fact that she was utterly unconscious of all that passed, and sat in the bottom of the boat with a vacant stare in her eyes. Both she and Mabel had now almost succumbed to the heat, and their terrible thirst. One of the sailors was raving wildly and throwing his arms above his head with heart-rending shrieks, as the body of Carrie struck the water with a slight splash, the sound seemed to madden him still more, for he gave one wild cry and threw himself over the side of the boat.

The sky which had been so clear at the beginning of the day, had gradually become overcast with clouds. At about three o’clock a few drops of rain fell with a soft plash into the boat. It soon increased to a hard shower. Captain Gray, Allen and the sailors quickly unlashed the barrel containing the sea biscuit, which they emptied into the bottom of the boat and set the barrel to catch the rain. They soon had caught enough to give each of the girls a refreshing draught, moistening their own parched throats as well. The rain continued to fall for some time, enabling them to catch several quarts of water.

For three days more they drifted on, with no signs of land, or even a friendly sail in sight, but about noon of the eighth day one of the sailors cried: “Land! Land!” “Captain, isn’t that land ahead?”

“I have seen that line against the sky for some time,” answered Captain Gray, “and I think you are right in saying it is land, yet it may be only a coral reef.”

What remnant of sail they had left was soon put up, and fortunately what breeze there was, was setting directly toward the island, if island it really was.

“Can’t we do something to make sure of reaching it, papa, if it is land?” asked Etta, who had now entirely revived.

“No my child, we must trust to luck to take us there. We are almost helpless. But there seems to be a current setting in towards shore, which, if nothing, such as adverse winds, happens to change our course, I think that sometime to-morrow we shall reach the island or reef, whichever it is.”

“Are we not in danger of running on some hidden reef?” said Allen.

“Yes, we do run some risk of that, but we must do the best we can.”

As night came on, the weary wanderers over the face of the waters, composed themselves to rest with a feeling of almost security, so nearly ended seemed their trials of the past week. The three sailors, Allen and the captain went on watch by turns throughout the night. By the early morning light how anxiously all the party scanned the shore, which could now be seen quite plainly. The waves gently lifted the boat and each moment seemed to carry it onward, in a manner that was meant to compensate for the roughness with which the waves had handled the staunch little craft a few days before.

“I think,” said Captain Gray, “that we are inside of a large reef and that fact accounts for the calmness of the sea.”

“We are lucky that the wind keeps favorable,” said Allen. “What in the world should we do if the wind should go down?”

“Well, Allen,” answered Mabel, “we must trust in providence. God has so far brought us out of our perils, and we should not now, doubt His goodness, or power to protect us.”

“I know Mabel, yet I cannot help feeling as if, were we again to be driven out to sea, it would be harder to bear than our trials of the last week have been.”

“But see, Allen,” broke in Etta, “we can actually see the shore and what is on it.”

“You mean, what is not on it, don’t you?” said Allen. “I don’t see anything but a mass of reddish brown rock.”

“I must say it is not a very promising looking shore” answered Etta, “but I shall be thankful to reach it, no matter what there is on it. I have such a horror of this boat, from which my mother and sister have been snatched by death.”

Nearer, and nearer they came to the shore. At last a grating sound under the keel, was heard. They had gone as far as possible. One of the sailors sprang out, and found the water quite shallow, and waded ashore. He soon came back, and, with the help of the other sailors, carried ashore what was left of the provisions. Going on shore a second time they found that if they could move the boat from its present position, they might get it into deeper water, and by pushing it along with a pole bring them a sort of little cove.

“But where are we to get the poles from?” asked Allen.

“We will take the remains of the mast. That will do,” said Captain Gray.

Suiting the action to the word, and getting the boat free once more, they began to push her slowly up the little inlet. At last she was snugly alongside the shore, and once more all the party felt the firm earth under their feet. A feeling of thankfulness filled every heart.

CHAPTER VI.

They were all very hungry, as they had been too intently watching their approach to the island to think of eating anything since the morning, and it was now almost sunset. Going over to the place where the sailors had first landed, where the beef and biscuit had been deposited, they prepared to eat their supper. They were all heartily tired of salt beef and hard tack, but the country appeared to be very barren, and there seemed little likelihood of their finding much in the way of food on it.

“I think,” said Captain Gray, “that this is one of the volcanic islands I spoke of, but still we may have landed on the most desolate part of it. To-morrow we will explore it in all directions, and find out just what our position is.”

After supper they prepared for their first night ashore, and yet it was not exactly ashore, either, as the boat was more comfortable as a sleeping place, than the rocky shore; so arranging the sail in the bottom of the boat, they spent, by far, the most comfortable night since the burning of the “Western Shore.”

When the first light of morning made its appearance, Allen and Harry (one of the sailors) set out to see if they could find water, which they were again likely to suffer for, or any kind of food. They followed the shore line until they had rounded a sharp point which obscured the boat from their view. As they rounded this point, an exclamation of joy burst from Allen’s lips. “See Harry,” cried he, “there is a large number of trees; they will probably have fruit of some kind.”

“Yes, they have fruit,” answered Harry, “but I’m afraid we can’t reach it. They are cocoanut trees.”

“Well, what if they are? What’s to prevent our getting the nuts; they would be a fine change in our diet, and the milk, too, would be very acceptable.”

“Yes, that’s true, sure enough, but we can’t get them. Those trees are from fifty to seventy-five feet high, and it takes a fellow that’s used to climbing them, to reach the nuts. I can tell you that.”

“Why,” said Allen, “can’t you climb one of those trees? You were nimble enough when you had to go aloft to set a sail, and I think it must be quite as hard to climb a mast as a tree.”

“No sir, that’s where you’re wrong. When a fellow’s going up the rigging, don’t you see he has all the ropes to help him, but to climb a cocoanut tree it’s a sight different. You’ve got nothing to lay hold of, and have got to trust to your feet and hands having a good grip on the bark.”

“I think you could do it if you tried,” said Allen.

“Well, I know as how I ain’t smart enough to do it, for I have tried it afore now. You see I’ve been around a good bit in the South Seas, and there ain’t no fellow but what’ll try his hand at climbing a cocoanut tree if he thinks he can do it.”

By this time they were in the midst of the graceful, tall trees which held their plume-like heads high against the sky, as if in proud defiance of all such aspiring mortals as should wish to rob them of their royal crown of fruit. But now that they had reached the cocoanut grove, they found that there were a number of other trees of much lower growth in the neighborhood. On going up to these trees they found them to have very broad leaves that spread out from the top of the trunk, each leaf being held in an almost horizontal position by a thick, pulpy stem, from three to five feet in length. The lower round of leaves having the largest stems, and each row being somewhat shorter than the one beneath, forming a most agreeable shade, as its shape was that of an immense umbrella. Clustered closely around the trunk, and directly under the leaves, were about a dozen bright, orange-colored fruits, resembling a quince somewhat in shape, only larger. Allen was the first to see these, and called to Harry, “What are those trees ahead of us, do you know?”

“Yes, they are papiea trees, and the fruit is mighty good to eat, too.”

They were not long in gathering a number of these, and also some guavas, which they found in abundance. Now, as it was getting well on in the morning, and they were beginning to feel as if breakfast would be acceptable, they started back to the boat. They were rather disappointed at not having found any traces of fresh water, but hoped that the captain and Ben, who had gone in the opposite direction, had been more fortunate, and so indeed they had. Not far from where the boat was moored they came upon a little stream, whose limpid water hurrying over its rock-brown bed, was a joyful sight to the searchers. Passing a little beyond the shining brooklet, on whose bank they stopped a moment, both the captain and Ben taking a long draught of the sweet water, they came upon a lovely beach covered with bits of coral, shining sands and bright shells. Ben, running down to the water’s edge, soon turned with the exclamation, “It’s just as you thought, captain, when you said there should be plenty of crab, if we could find a good beach. See, here is a fine one, I have caught.” After working for some time they managed to capture eight fine crabs.

“Now,” said the captain, “I think we had better go back to camp with what we have, and delay our expedition until after breakfast. It will take some time to prepare these, even if Hans and the girls have managed to get a fire.”

“All right, just as you say, captain,” came the answer, “but if you will wait just a few minutes I will get some of that sea-weed we have seen clinging to the rocks. It makes first-rate eating.”

“What, that black, slippery looking stuff?” asked the captain.

“Yes, sir. The natives of several islands down in these parts eat it, and I have tasted it and it’s first rate.”

“That’s so,” said Captain Gray, “now I come to think of it, I have seen the natives of the Hawaiian Islands, and Samoa, eat it.”

So, gathering a quantity of the sea kale, they also started back for the boat.

In the meantime the girls and Hans had not been idle. They had searched in all directions for material to build a fire. They succeeded in finding a number of pieces of driftwood, which, during some storm had been cast high and dry on this rocky point. The captain had been fortunate enough to have kept some matches perfectly dry, as his little gold match-box, which he carried in an inner pocket, shut so tightly that not a drop of water had reached the now much needed and precious matches. The girls had arranged a fire all ready to light when any of the party came back, so that if they found any game or fish they would be able to cook it immediately. Consequently when captain and Ben returned, the fire was soon going, and the crabs put into the hot ashes to cook. Hans had found a comfortable shade from the sun behind some huge rocks which was very pleasant to the captain and Ben, who had not found a particle of shade during the time they were exploring and so were very much heated, for, although the hour was early the heat of the sun was intense.

During the absence of captain and Ben, Hans had busied himself making a bucket of the staves of the broken water cask and needed only hoops to complete it. The two girls started to the boat after them. They had been gone but a few moments when they rushed back, with their faces as pale as death. Etta, throwing herself into her father’s arms, cried: “Papa, what shall we do, where can we hide? They have come, they have seen us, I am sure they have. Oh, papa, papa, what shall we do?”

Their fear soon communicated itself to the whole group.

“What is it,” exclaimed Captain Gray, “who has come?”

“The natives,” whispered Mabel, “don’t speak so loud, perhaps they didn’t see us after all.”

The captain was busy, meanwhile, trying to smother the fire by dragging a portion of the old sail upon it.

“If the smoke does not attract their notice,” said Captain Gray, “we may still be safe, if as Mabel thinks, they did not see you.”

“But papa, I am sure they did see us and they are cannibals, I know they are cannibals. What shall we do?”

“Put your trust in the Lord, and fear not,” said Mabel, drawing Etta close to her.

“Are you never frightened at anything Mabel, you are so calm?”

“Yes, I am afraid now, but I feel that what is best for me will happen, and it is useless for me to struggle against fate.”

“How many natives were they and how far away?” inquired the captain.

“There was five,” replied Mabel, “and they were just coming over the crest of the hill as we saw them.”

“Five,” mused Captain Gray. “They could easily overpower us as we are but three men now. Oh, if Allen and Harry were only here.”

Mabel raised her head with a startled little cry. “Oh, captain, what if Allen is already in the hands of those horrible natives; or perhaps he and Harry both have been killed and these savages are searching for further traces of our party.”

They now lay as closely as possible to the protecting rocks and after Mabel’s last words, a deathlike hush reigned. The moments seemed like hours in the agonizing suspense, for they knew not how close the dreaded savages might have come by now, as their footfalls, they were aware, could not be heard and they expected any moment to see their malignant faces stealthily peering around the corners of the rocks. They did not dare to go to the edge of the rocky screen to see if their foes were in sight, for fear of betraying their hiding place; they had resolved to fight to the last and not be taken alive if possible.

Perhaps Etta and Mabel dreaded capture more than the three men; they also resolved to fight for their lives, if necessary.

CHAPTER VII.

The moments had passed slowly until almost an hour had gone by. Captain Gray was the first to break the long silence with: “I begin to think, that for this time we are safe,” but hardly had the words left his lips when the murmur of voices were heard. The hearts of every member of the little party seemed to stop beating, so intense was their terrible dread. In a moment more the form of a strongly built young savage bounded over the lowest part of the rocky barrier and stood before the horrified group. He was quickly followed by four other natives.

The captain and the rest of the little party sprang to their feet ready to defend themselves, their backs against the rocks, their drawn knives in their hands. But instead of rushing upon them, the young native smiled and pointed to something he carried in his hand, which was a large conch shell, having a curved piece of bright pearl shell attached to it in a curious manner, the whole arrangement being fastened to a long cord of braided grass, and said in a kind voice:

“Fish! Ahleka, Fish! Have no fear of Ahleka.”

The surprise of the little group can be better imagined than described, at hearing very fair English spoken by this stalwart young native, whose skin was a rich nut-brown, and whose only clothing consisted of a strip of braided grass wound about his waist and hanging in a deep fringe half way to the knees. The rest of his body was totally devoid of covering or ornament, except a necklace of claws that encircled his throat. He was a splendid specimen of manhood; tall and straight as a young tree, broad shouldered, muscular and supple.

The strangeness of hearing words they could understand, flow from his lips, in a full musical tone, when they had expected to hear only sounds unintelligible to them, was so great as to make the little party stare at the natives with open-eyed wonder, as Ahleka continued:

“My people will do you no harm. We war not with the children of the lands beyond the seas. But, how came you here? We have found your large waa (canoe) close under the rocks. Did you come from lands beyond the rising of Ka La (pointing to the sun) and, how did so few warriors bring so large a waa so far?”

The natives were regarding curiously the group before them.

Captain Gray answered, “No, we did not come in so small a boat from our land, but our big ship was burned at sea, and nine days have we drifted, until we came upon your island.”

Mabel now broke in with: “Are there white people on your island?”

“White people, daughter of mahina (the moon), what are white people?”

“Why, do you not know? and yet you speak English; we are white people, not brown like yourself and your friends.”

“Are all your people like you, daughter of mahina, as if the light of Ka La shone forever on bright pearls?”

Mabel was a little confused at his admiring glance, but answered: “Yes, do you not see, all my friends are white, also?”

“The two daughters are white, as you say, but not so white are the warriors.”

There was a general laugh at this remark. Etta spoke up for her bronzed father and the two sailors, saying, “they are indeed darker than we, but the rays of the sun made them so, while we live indoors.”

The sailors were indeed very much sun-burned, while Captain Gray was naturally a very dark man. There was no denying the fact that they presented a strong contrast to the two girls, who were both fair, with light hair, particularly Mabel, whose complexion was extremely delicate. On attempting to talk with the other natives, Captain Gray was surprised to find that they understood but a word or two of what was said to them.

“You have not told us yet: are there other of our people living on your island?”

“No, not of your people. My father speaks your tongue. He has taught me to speak it also, but he is of our people.”

“But, if he speaks English he must be an American or an Englishman,” cried Mabel.

“No, said I, not, he is my father. How is he of your people beyond the rising of Ka La. No waa, in all my life before, ever came to our land, nor heard I of any that ever came.”

“But is he dark, like you, or white like us?” persists Mabel, feeling sure that his father must be a white man, having noticed that all of the natives with him were much darker than he.

“He is as thy father,” answered Ahleka, pointing to Captain Gray.

“This is not my father, my father is beyond the rising of the sun. This is the father of my friend,” she said, pointing to Etta.

“Did not your father come from some far country?” inquired the captain.

“Yes. It is said by the people of our village that the fiku (fig) trees have been in blossom many, many times, since my father and two other Alii (chiefs) descended from pale mahina to dwell among our people. They spoke not as our people spoke, but soon learned our language. My father taught me your strange tongue as a pastime, and when I saw the faces of the mahina maidens I spoke it to them. But come let me take you to my father.”

“Not yet,” answered Captain Gray, “we have two more who belong to us and we must wait till they come back, and, besides that we have not eaten yet.”

On hearing this, Ahleka turned and spoke a few words to one of the natives, who quickly started in the direction of the boat. Another native set about rebuilding the fire. The native who had gone to the boat soon returned, bringing a bundle done up in large, green leaves. This he laid upon the ground and proceeded to open, having handed to one of the other natives a number of fish which he had also brought, strung upon a sharp stick. The fish were quickly dressed and wrapped in several layers of the large leaves, when they were placed in the hot ashes to cook, while out of the bundle were produced some delicious looking mangoes, some figs, a large bread fruit which was already cooked, and some tamarinds. These things were intended to be eaten by the fishermen at midday. They also had a couple of gourds to drink from. They quickly spread the meal, using the broad leaves for plates. The repast was almost prepared, when Allen and Harry were seen coming around the point towards the camp. Mabel and Etta ran forward to meet them, breathless to tell them of the strange events that had happened while they had been away. Allen could hardly believe the wonderful story; it seemed incredible that they should have found English-speaking Aborigines. The idea was almost weird. When he had reached Captain Gray and the rest of the party, he found it indeed true.

“Now that we are all together again we had best have something to eat. What have you there Allen?” asked the captain.

Allen had now cut open a couple of the papiea fruit and found them to be juicy and not unpleasant to the taste. They contained a large number of little shot-like seeds, which, at first, he thought to be the part of the fruit to be eaten, but soon found his mistake.

“Take of our food to eat,” said Ahleka, “and when you have eaten and rested, we will go to the village.”

“But do not you and your friends need the food for yourselves?” inquired the captain.

“No, not so, we shall not fish to-day, but shall go with you to my father,” saying which, Ahleka motioned to put the fish upon fresh leaves also, which was deftly done by the native boy who had been attending to the fire. The meal proved a delightful one, the fish juicy and toothsome, the bread fruit a pleasant change from hard tack, the fruits delicious. The gourds had been filled with clear water into which a number of tamarinds were dropped, making a cool, refreshing drink, somewhat acid to the taste.

After having done full justice to what had been provided for them, they began to feel as if, after all, their lot was not such a hard one; so reviving are the effects of a dainty meal.

CHAPTER VIII.

They were soon on their way with Ahleka and his friends, to the village, which they reached in about two hours’ time. The village was built at almost the other extreme of the island. After having crossed the hill, where the girls had first seen the natives, they went but a short distance before they came to two canoes, into one of which Ahleka stepped and held out his hand to assist Mabel in. Etta, the captain and Allen were all told to arrange themselves in the same canoe and the three sailors were directed to get into the other, which one of the native boys, whom Ahleka called Kaluha, was directed to manage; the other three natives pushing the canoes out into the water, which seemed to be a long arm of the sea, which extended far into the island, cutting it almost in two.

Captain Gray, on seeing that the three natives were to be left behind, exclaimed: “It is too bad for us to eat their breakfast and then take their boats from them. How will they get to the village?”

“Have no fear for them,” replied Ahleka, “the village is on that side of the island. We often walk from the village here; indeed it is the shortest way, but by canoe, is the most pleasant.”

The canoes seemed to fairly skim over the bright water so rapidly did they go. They had gone swiftly onward for an hour, when the canoes were again headed for the shore.

After having landed, there was still quite a distance to walk before reaching the village, but, at last, it was espied embowered in trees of every description; the stately cocoanut and the spreading candlenut tree, with its delicate silver green foliage, contending for supremacy. The houses were built of grass, and were scattered here and there, without any regard for regularity, but seeming as if built wherever a large cluster of trees offered their friendly shade; at the side of most of the houses a sort of trellis had been arranged by sticking one end of long poles in the ground and leaning the other end against the roof of the house. These trellises were covered by flowering vines of great variety and brilliancy, the whole effect being one of exceeding loveliness. Under these flowery bowers, which were open at each end, were spread mats of the finest workmanship, being braided of lohala (a tree possessing a fibre of extreme fineness.) Some had the appearance of goats fleece, so skillfully were they woven, leaving fibres three or four inches in length, loose on the top of the rug; others were braided in a smooth, close surface.

Mabel exclaimed, on coming in sight of the village: “How lovely! I never saw anything half so beautiful; it seems like a vision of dreamland.”

“And is not your country, that has such beautiful maidens, far more lovely than our land?” broke in Ahleka.

“Oh, no! Our country is not one half so enchanting,” said she.

There seemed a strange quiet brooding over the village as they drew near, and, on Etta speaking of this, Ahleka said: “In my country we sleep at midday; then each one who is in the village rests, so that we tire not ourselves in the heat of the day.”

“What a delightful custom,” cried Mabel, smiling.

As they entered the village, all still remained quiet. Ahleka led them to one of the largest and most beautiful of the houses. After offering them seats on the comfortable rugs under the trellis that was a mass of fragrant bloom. “This,” said he, “was my house. Now it is yours. I will leave you now while I go to speak to my father, of you. I will soon return. These boys,” pointing to the one who had been in the canoe with the sailors, and another, who had been lying asleep on a mat, but had gotten up as they came in, “will wait upon you while I am gone.” Speaking a few words to the boys in his native tongue, he departed.

“That fellow looks like a prince, doesn’t he,” said Allen, “in spite of his dark skin and lack of clothing.”

“Indeed he does,” asserted Mabel, “and acts like one, too. I have never seen a prince, but he comes very near my ideal of one.”

“Look out Mabel,” laughed Etta, “and don’t let him play the part of Prince Charming.”

Allen cast a quick, keen glance at Mabel, who colored angrily and answered quickly: “There is no excuse for that remark.”

“Why, Mabel, you know I did not mean to annoy you,” said Etta, really sorry she had made so hasty a speech. “Do forgive me, it was only a joke.”

“That may be, but not a pleasant one. I do admire him very much as a savage, but the idea of putting myself on a level with a brown skinned heathen is not agreeable.

“Come, come, girls, don’t get to quarreling over our dusky friend,” exclaimed Captain Gray, “this sort of thing won’t do at all.” In a moment’s time, the girls had forgotten the little occurrence and all went on pleasantly.

The two boys now came out of the house, one of them carrying two peculiar looking water vessels. They consisted of large gourds covered with a curiously wrought net work of fine cord, the cords being gathered around the top into half a dozen handles by which to carry them conveniently. These calabashes had been filled with cool water from a little stream near by; into one of them a number of very fragrant ginger flowers had been thrown, giving to the water a delicate perfume. The water from this calabash, the boy emptied into a number of shallow gourds they had brought with them. One of the calabashes of perfumed water he sat before each of the party, putting beside each, a piece of something that looked like the finest cloth, but was in reality the bark of a tree, beaten to extreme thinness. It was so evident what was intended by these attentions that the travellers were not slow to avail themselves of this provision for their comfort, and found themselves much refreshed.

The other boy had, in the meantime, been filling small cups made of half a cocoanut, highly polished and curiously carved, with the juice of young cocoanuts. This proved very pleasant to the taste.

Just as they had handed back the cups to the boy, Ahleka returned, and with him his father, whose appearance was in striking contrast to that of his son, Ahleka; for, although he was browned by many years of exposure to the tropical sun, and the hot winds of this lovely island, was unmistakably a white man. His long hair hanging in soft silvery waves, half way down his back, his grey beard falling low on his breast, while his deep-set grey eyes looked out from under brows that were almost as black as Ahleka’s own, giving his face a most peculiar expression. He was dressed in the same manner as his son, only that over his shoulders was thrown a small cape made of bright feathers. In his hand he carried a long staff. As he came toward the house, in which Captain Gray and his shipwrecked party were sitting, they could see that the old man was strongly affected by their presence; in fact, his agitation was so great, that Ahleka was obliged to support his trembling form.

Captain Gray, followed by the rest, arose and went forward to meet him. He stretched out his hand toward them, dropping his staff. “Thank God,” he cried, “once more do I speak to my countrymen!”

After having seated his father, Ahleka said, “I have told him all your story, as far as I knew it, but he wishes to hear much more.”

“Yes,” cried the old man, “tell me all. How did you get here? All these weary years have I prayed to God that before I died, he would let me speak once more to men of my own country.”

Captain Gray told their story to him in all its thrilling details. He listened attentively, now and then shaking his head sadly. When the captain had finished, the old man said, “You can not hope for deliverance from this sea-bound land for years, if ever. I have been here thirty years. For years after I came I spent my time scanning, with anxious eyes, the face of the ocean, but no sign of sail did I ever see, except once, and then the fire, which I placed on the highest hill on the island failed to attract attention. You are the first sign of life outside of this island I have seen for thirty years.”

His words brought a feeling of horror to each of his listeners. Must their fate be what his had been?

“In time,” he continued, “I grew more contented and ceased to look out to sea. About that time I married, according to the native custom, a young and beautiful girl, the daughter of the reigning queen of the island. Think not that I was soon comforted for the loss of the wife I had left at home, for that was not the case; but the princess loved me and one day two of the warriors came to tell me that I was expected to marry her, and, as a refusal on my part would result in my death, I consented to the proposal, thinking to leave her behind me when I returned to my own country; but the girl I married was so beautiful, so gentle, so affectionate and devoted, that I learned to love her deeply and mourned her loss greatly when she was taken away from me by death.”

“But you have not told us, as yet, how you came here,” broke in Allen. “Will you not tell us about it?”

“’Tis a tale soon told,” he replied. “I left England thirty years ago. It was on the thirteenth of January, 1857, and I shall never forget that day. I think it is thirty years since then, am I right?”

“Yes,” answered Allen, “you are right. Thirty years, and a little over, as it is now March.”

“As I was saying, I left England, bound for Australia, on that day. We had pleasant enough passage until we had almost reached our destination, when we encountered one of those horrors of the sea—a cyclone. For days we were at the mercy of the wind, our masts gone and a greater part of the upper works washed away. Our ship began to leak so fast, that with the most desperate efforts we could no longer keep her afloat and were driven to take to the boats. One boat was smashed against the vessel’s side; a second was swamped by the suction produced by the sinking ship. We, in our boat, alone escaped, but our sufferings were intense. What with the stormy waves that dashed over us, carrying away three of our number, the horrible hunger we had to undergo, being without anything to eat, and the frightful thirst that overtook us before we reached this island, my sufferings were so great, that, whereas my hair had been as black as Ahleka’s there, when I sailed from home, when I landed here it was as you see it now. Finally we were thrown on the reef, that extends almost around this island. Our boat quickly went to pieces and we clung to portions of the wreckage, hoping to be at last thrown on the island. Just as we were almost exhausted, and about to give up, we saw several canoes, containing natives, coming rapidly toward us. They had been surf bathing, and seeing our terrible position, and being kindly natured, had come to our assistance. We were soon in the canoes, but there were only three of us, whereas, when the boat struck the reef, three had been five, but they were nowhere to be seen. After bringing us to this village they cared for us with the greatest kindness. It was not long before one of our number, a young doctor, was happily settled in a little grass cottage with a lovely brown girl for a wife. The other member of our party was the mate of the ship. He had a sweet little wife back in England, so declined to marry a native women who wished him as a husband. According to a custom of this people, he was instantly put to death by her relatives, who took this method of resenting the insult to their kinswoman. If she had been a beautiful young maiden, like the doctor’s bride, it might have been different. Then I married my lovely Lokie (a rose). We had three children, this son and two daughters. I was happy and contented as years went by, but when Ahleka was twelve years old, a dreadful scourge of fever swept over the island, and my wife, one of my daughters, and the young doctor were among those who were marked by the hand of death. Then I lived on with my son and daughter. I received great consideration from the people of the island, as my son Ahleka is their head Alii or king. The line of succession descending in this island, not from father to son, but from the mother to her children, thus keeping the royal blood pure. Now, you have heard my story.”

“Yes, but not your name, or that of the vessel in which you sailed,” said Captain Gray.

“The ship’s name was the ‘Castle Ayreshire.’” At the mention of that name Allen Thornton made a violent start. “And I,” continued he, “was her captain—Allen Thornton.”

At the sound of that name a cry of astonishment burst from the lips of each of the party.

Allen, throwing himself on his knees, in front of the old man, cried: “My father! My father! Have I found you at last?”

The old man looked bewildered.

“You are my father,” continued Allen, “did you not leave a boy, a few months old, as well as a young wife, behind you at Brighton.”

“I did! I did!” sobbed the old man, “and you are he. I thank God for his goodness. To think that my other son should be sent to cheer my declining days. Surely God moves in a mysterious way, his wonders to perform. But your mother, boy, your mother. Where is she, and how? Why did you leave her?”

“Father she is happy and has no need of me. She died when I was fifteen, after mourning you as dead so many years.”

Captain Thornton, as we shall now call him, pressed his hands tightly over his eyes to repress his emotion, then clasped Allen to his breast. While this scene was being enacted the others had gone a little aside.

“Isn’t it all strange?” whispered Mabel to Etta.

“Yes, and to think of Allen and Ahleka being half brothers; did you think of that?” answered Etta.

“Sure enough; I had not thought of that. I wonder if Allen has, and how he will like it when he realizes it.” Mabel spoke in a tone as if she should not care for so dark a brother herself.

Presently Captain Thornton turned and said, “My son, Ahleka, has asked, that, in his name I extend the hospitality and protection of the village and island to you all, which I gladly do; he also wishes to give to Captain Gray and the two young ladies, this house and the one adjoining, which are his own. He will provide for the sailors with you’ hereafter, and, as for my son Allen, his comfort shall be my care.”

During this conversation the village had literally awakened from its sleep, and from every little grass house came streaming, dusky forms. They clustered around Ahleka, listening with open-eyed astonishment to the strange story he was telling them in their own musical tongue, with many a gesture. Presently a number of smiling girls darted off, and soon returned with long leis (bands) of flowers, made by braiding the brightest and sweetest flowers with ferns, or, a sweet smelling vine, into long garlands, with which they proceeded to deck each of the strangers, putting them over one shoulder and under the other arm like a military sash, leaving long ends to fall almost to the ground. More garlands were wound about their waists, placed upon their heads and around their necks until they were fairly clothed in flowers; the girls, meantime, laughing gaily, and repeating in their soft, musical voices, ah mie ha (you are welcome.)

CHAPTER IX.

The village of Nahua is in a great excitement to-day. Everything wears an aspect of unusual gaiety. The houses are bedecked with flowers, and in the center of the village has been erected two rows of high poles standing about twenty feet apart and extending in a line almost two hundred feet long. Garlands of flowers are stretched from the top of these poles in all directions and are also wound around the poles, the whole forming a canopied avenue of exceeding beauty. Under this canopy were placed two rows of straw mats; further on were laid more mats in the form of a letter H. On these mats was spread a banquet consisting of raw fish with chili peppers, fish dried in the sun, fish that had been wrapped in leaves and then cooked, devil fish which had been salted and dried, its long slender tentacles being regarded as an especial dainty. Then there was lemu, or sea kale, plantain, kalo, a vegetable resembling, somewhat, the potato, there was kui, or candlenut, ground to a coarse powder and salted, to be eaten as a relish to the fish. There were mangoes, guavas, oranges, dates, figs, pomegranates, papiea, young cocoanuts, the meat of which was not yet hard, but of a thick creamy appearance and had to be scooped out with little spoon-shaped pieces of shell. Then there was a large number of small cups made of wood curiously carved, containing a peculiar, greyish looking mass of something that would put one in mind of paste, if one were not told it was a very much liked dish, in fact, being the piece d’ resistance of the feast. Into these little dishes of poi, as it is called, a native will daintily dip the first finger, then giving it a quick twirl, wrap a sufficient quantity on the finger, when it is skillfully and gracefully conveyed to the mouth. For drinking, we were provided small calabashes full of the juice of the young cocoanut and large calabashes containing awa awa, a drink very much esteemed by them, being in its effects very much like whisky.

The cause of all this preparation was the fact that it was the yearly celebration of the maiden’s feast. On this day the inhabitants of the four villages on the island gathered at Nahua, the principal village of the kingdom.

All the morning of this day, Mabel and Etta had been very busy and now were resting under the shade of the trellis of their cottage, when a native girl, about sixteen years old, came toward the house, followed by an older girl, each bearing in their hands the fall dress of a native maiden; the younger girl was Kaelea, the sister of Ahleka. She was slender and graceful; her charms would have attracted the notice of a sculptor at first glance; her face was expressive; her features delicate; her eyes brown, large, soft and languorous; her hair hung in a wavy mass far below her waist. She moved with a peculiar grace seldom seen. But, if she was beautiful, what was Maula, who came with her, Maula was the maiden of the village, of Howcu, the village on that part of the island, which was beyond the arm of the sea; she was a vision of voluptuous loveliness, tall and stately, grand in her proportions; her eyes could melt in tenderest mood or flash in the wildest anger or proudest defiance. She seemed to bend every one to her will, so strong and passionate was her nature. She was much darker than Kaelea, being a full blooded native. In her bearing she somehow made one think of a tigress; when in a happy mood, moving with a sinuous grace, which was fascinating, and when angry, one could but admire her grandeur.

As these two girls were crossing the open space, between the two houses, Etta was saying to Mabel, “I can hardly believe that it is six months since we landed here. Does it seem possible to you?”

“No, it does not, and yet it is strange that the time should seem to pass quickly,” replied Mabel. “I feel, whenever I think of my father, that I should be unhappy, instead of contented, as I am. My poor father, his heart, I know, is almost broken, for I was his all; and long ’ere now he has given us up as dead. My poor, poor father, I can picture in my mind his grief.”

“Do not think of that Mabel. Above all not to-day when every one is expected to be happy and make merry,” begged Etta.

Mabel, now seeing the two girls coming towards them, got up to receive them, as did also Etta. Kaelea and Maula entered the cottage, with the adornments they held in their hands, extended laughingly towards the two American girls.

Maula was the first to speak: “Your father and your friend have long been wearing the dress of our country; now we shall see how fair and beautiful you will look when dressed in the costume which nature teaches her children to wear. Your loveliness is obscured by the ugly garments that are put upon you to hinder your movements. When you are dressed as we are, you will be free; you will never wish to again put on those clothes which make you so uncomfortable.”

“Well, you see, they do not seem at all uncomfortable to us,” laughed Mabel, “but, as our clothes are completely worn out, we are obliged to dress as you do, and I have no doubt we shall like it, too,” this she added as she noticed a slight frown on Maula’s face. Kaelea took Etta aside and soon arrayed her in the costume. In the meantime, Maula was showing Mabel the mysteries of a Nahua maiden’s toilet. First she placed around her waist a skirt which reached to the knees, being composed of a series of fringes of grass; around her body was wound a length of soft kapa, or tree fibre cloth, in color bright blue, this being passed around the body twice and tied at the side, had both a picturesque and modest effect. Around her neck was hung a necklace of shells, pure white in color, and about the size and shape of a grain of rice; this necklace encircled her throat about twenty times. On her arms were placed shell bracelets, on her ankles the fringe of soft grass. Last of all a sort of chaplet, made of the brightest feathers, which crowned her head. When Maula had placed this upon her shining hair, Mabel stood arrayed for the first time in the native dress which she was hereafter to wear.

“I feel so oddly, Maula, with this short skirt,” she said.

“You will like the dress, I am sure, when you are used to it,” answered Maula. “There will be no maiden at the feast half as beautiful as yourself, and happy will he be, whom you choose to be your husband.”

“Oh, do not think I intend to choose a husband,” quickly answered Mabel, blushing a deep crimson, “I shall not choose a husband.”

“No,” queried Maula, “then do you not love your friend Allen?”

“No,” came the answer. It was not pleasant to Mabel to be thus questioned, yet she could not resent it, as it was not intended to displease her. “I do not love Allen, and if I did I should not choose him, for in my country the young girls must not choose their husbands, but wait to be asked in marriage by the young men.”

“Do you mean you do not love him?” exclaimed Maula.

“No, indeed, I do not. Why do you ask?”

“Ah, now is Maula happy. Maula loves Allen. Oh, how she loves him. But she would have waited until the moon maidens had chosen. Then, if you had chosen him, Maula would have taken her canoe far out beyond the reef and thrown herself to the sharks.” As the girl spoke, a passionate light shone in her eyes, forcing Mabel to believe her. “But now he is Maula’s. How I love him. I shall be so kind, so gentle, to him that he shall love me in return. Maula shall be a soft, cooing dove in his hands, a wild beast of the hills to his enemies.”

“But what if he refuse you?”

“He will not when I look with love into his eyes, open my arms and fold him to my breast, and press my burning lips to his. I shall dance before him. He shall see my strength, my ease of movement, my grace; he will love me!”

She beat her heaving breast with her clenched hands, and Mabel stood aghast at the intensity of the girl’s love. She, too, could but think that Allen would not be able to resist this beautiful tigress.

The girl continued, “and if he scorns my love, and says no, then he shall die. It is our country’s custom. No man is fit to live who will refuse a maiden’s love. But he shall not die at the hands of our warriors, but I shall kill him! Maula has a strong arm and can handle the spear with as sure an aim as her brothers. Maula’s hand shall end his life. I have sworn it, if he refuses my love. But he will not,” calming herself. “But you say that in your country the maidens wait to be asked. There must be many who have no husbands.”

“Yes, that is so,” answered Mabel, “but there is one objection to your way; if the man does not love the maiden whom he marries, he will be unhappy. Have you no unhappy marriages?”

“No, they rarely occur. You see, on the day of the maiden’s festival, each maiden chooses the one she loves; from that moment they belong to each other, but at the end of a year she is at liberty to go back to her home and he, also, is permitted to take her back to her father’s house if he finds she is not lovable, kind, obedient and all that he desires in a wife; so that all the time she tries to please him and any maiden can make a man love her by her affectionate gentleness, and when he learns to love her he tries to please her so that, at the yearly feast she shall not wish to leave him, and each year they renew their vows.”

“Oh,” said Mabel, “a sort of yearly probation. It is a good plan, for then they constantly strive to please each other.”

Etta now advanced, accompanied by Kaelea, towards the other two girls. She, too, was fully dressed in the costume of the island. Her necklace was a bright red coral, the strip of cloth about her waist a delicate yellow; otherwise her dress was the same as Mabel’s.

CHAPTER X.

The four girls now left the house, going toward the canopy of flowers. As they drew near, a murmur of gay voices greeted their ears, a scene of dream-like beauty met their eyes. The rich and varied color of the foliage; the fringed heads of the cocoanuts waving like vast plumes against the sky; the bronzed red of the mangoes hung in luxuriant plenty on hundreds of trees; locust trees showering their fragrant white blossoms all around; the delicate accasia trembling in each breath of air in a thousand feathery masses; the date palm with its pendant shower of fruit; the lou-hale, whose slender spear-like foliage and bright, orange colored fruit lends it a subtle charm; the ohia lifting high its mass of crimson ponpons, all growing in tropical profusion; the ia-ia whose flame colored tufts of bloom seemed to spring from every tree as its parasitic arms spread in all directions; the perfume of flowers was wafted like incense to the god of love on the warm breeze that came softly over the summer sea, whose wavelets touched by the sun, shone like bright silver, and the soft curves of creamy breakers could be seen through this long vista of everlasting green.

Already the inhabitants had gathered at the place of festivity, for it was now after the hour of rest; music, sweet, rythmic and weird, arose from tom toms, gourds and a sort of musical rattle accompanied by a hundred girlish voices. Mabel and Etta stood entranced by the charm of it all.

Captain Gray and Allen, together with Captain Thornton, or Alii Mahina (moon chief, as he was called by the people of the island), also Ahleka, were already seated on a large mat, watching the gay scene. Allen had a leis of ginger flowers bound around his head, also one about his neck. It looked oddly enough to see these white men and girls dressed in the costume of this strange people. The girls found places on the mat beside Captain Gray, and, when they had been seated about five minutes, there arose a wild shout of joy from hundreds of lips that sung a song of triumph and love. The tom toms and gourds were beaten wildly by the palms of the hands, of a score of players who were arranged a little way off on each side of the avenue or lanai, as it was called. As the weird strains increased young men bounded with joyous leaps toward the lanai where they arranged themselves on one of the lines of mats. They were closely followed by the maidens who quickly placed themselves on the line opposite.

The young girls were a vision of grace and beauty, the armlets and necklaces of white shells and bright corals making a lovely contrast to their rounded arms and shapely throats, glistening like bronze, their faces aglow with animation and delight, their lithe limbs, firm, rounded and supple, their every movement grace. The ceremonies began by the young men showing their strength and agility, by throwing high in the air the heavy spears they carried and catching them as they descended. After these feats of prowess had been completed, amidst the wildest excitement, there came a strange stillness over all the participants and on-lookers, but in a moment the strains of music, played in softest tones, seemed to descend from the very heavens, so sweet was it.

One after another the maidens joined their fresh voices to the strain until it seemed to fill ones very soul with ecstasy. The chant grew louder and the girls began to beat the air gently, with long feather wands, which they carried in their hands; soon their bodies began to sway in an undulating motion, keeping time to the chant. Then, waving their hands above their heads, they would advance toward the young men and then retrace their steps, each girlish form meanwhile waving to and fro like a young tree bent in the wind. The music grew faster and more intense, the girls no longer sang; a languorous expression filled their eyes which spoke only of love. A voluptuous smile was on each lip, the hips moving gently to and fro, with a peculiar motion, set every little fringe of grass in their short skirts to quivering. Now and then some quicker movement would float the light skirts high in the air, revealing to the rapt eyes of the beholders glimpses of rounded limbs above the knee. The wands were now placed on the mats, unbinding from about their waist’s the strips of cloth, and; holding it in both hands, they continued the dance, waving the scarfs of bright-hued cloth, first high above their heads, then passing it beneath their feet, keeping up that peculiar serpent-like motion, swaying, twisting and twirling in a hundred ways. When this dance was finished the girls took up their wands and each one advancing toward the line of young men, touching lightly the young man of her choice. Maula being the maiden of highest rank was the first to advance, with unbound waist, carrying her scarf on her arm. She touched Allen softly with her wand, looking at him with loving eyes the while. He stepped forward as one bound by some strange sweet spell. She quickly bound about his loins the strip of bright yellow cloth that had lately encircled her own waist, in token that he now belonged to her, and as a warning to other maidens to choose elsewhere. He also tied on her arm, high above the elbow, a band of woven sea grass, on which was strung two small conch shells in token that she was his. This, with the unbound waist, being the distinguishing mark of the unmarried woman.

Maula was followed in quick succession by other maidens.

“My love, my own, let us not stay until all have chosen,” whispered Maula, “let us go together to the sea shore where none may hear our words of love.” Allen moved as one in a dream, so strong was her charm for him. She held out her warm arms to him and he was soon held to her so closely that he could feel her heart beats. Her ecstasy was shared in by him, and, twining his arms about her, answered, “Yes, my queen, let us go,” saying which, the pair disappeared down the long vista of flowers and waving trees.

An hour later the tom toms were again heard, this time calling all to the feast. The maidens and the young men of their choice, took their seats on the soft mats which were placed in the centre piece of the letter H, the older ones of the company sitting at the sides.

It was now evening and the banquet was lit by means of kui-kui, or candle nuts, strung on cords of braided sea-weed and hanging from tree to tree, being lighted at the top and burning with a blue light; the thousands of these little lamps made it seem like fairyland. The feast lasted long and high ran the merriment of these happy children of nature on this isle of the blest. Presently the moon arose, bathing the scene in a flood of silvery light, making it, if possible, still more bewitching. After supper dancing was resumed and lasted far into the morning.

CHAPTER XI.

We will leave Mabel and her friends on the Island of Kaahlanai (the isle of the sun ) and we will return to the home of Mr. Miller.

After Mabel’s departure, the wedding of Lucy Maynard, which was soon to take place, was hastened by Harry Howard being sent by his firm to Europe. Not wishing to go without his bride, the preparations for the wedding were hurried, and six weeks after Mabel had sailed for Australia Harry and Lucy were married. Their wedding was a grand affair, Mrs. Maynard’s ambition being satisfied in the matter of display and expense, as her brother, Mr. Miller made liberal provision for Lucy in every respect. After the wedding the bride and groom left for New York on their way to Europe, and Mrs. Maynard was perfectly happy as a wedding trip to Europe was the acme of refinement and could only be indulged in by a select few.

As the weeks dragged themselves wearily into months and still no tidings came of the Western Shore, or her ill-fated crew or passengers, Mr. Miller gave up his loved daughter as lost. He no longer took an interest in his business but would sit with folded hands thinking of Mabel for hours at a time. Mrs. Maynard tried in every way to have her brother throw off his grief. One day she said to him, “Why don’t you try to arouse yourself from this melancholy, James, and take some interest in the life around you? You can’t bring Mabel back by this ceaseless mourning.”

Mr. Miller’s face was pitiful as he looked up and reiterated, “Interest in life. What interest have I in life, now that she, my darling child, is gone? What have I worked for all these years, but for her sake? What did I care for money, but that she might enjoy it? No, there is nothing left for me to live for. Oh, why, why did I ever let her leave me? Now in my old age she is gone, gone.” He dropped his head in his hands and his whole frame shook with emotion.

Mrs. Maynard’s face darkened. She had no patience with such grief which after months could show no signs of abatement. Her nature could not comprehend it. Mr. Miller’s constant brooding over his trouble soon told upon his health, and rapidly developed a disease that had been lurking in his system for years. So quickly did his health fail that about ten months after Mabel left home, he was no longer able to leave his bed. Day by day he grew worse until six weeks later, when he was laid to rest in Lone Mountain cemetery, and Mabel was now an orphan.

The day after the funeral Mr. Faxon, Mr. Miller’s lawyer, read the will to Mrs. Maynard.

“Why, Mr. Faxon, he could not have been in his right mind when he made such a will,” exclaimed Mrs. Maynard.

“I think he was, my dear Mrs. Maynard. Why do you doubt it?”

“Would any man in his right senses make such an absurd will as that?”

“Why, Mrs. Maynard, I do not see anything absurd in it. He has left you well cared for.”

“Well cared for? What do you mean Mr. Faxon? Has he done right by his only sister to simply give me the income of his estate? Don’t you see I can’t sell or dispose of a single thing? Do you think that is just?” she asked.

“Well, you surely would not wish to dispose of this home would you?”

“Well, no, of course not, but I don’t like to feel myself bound so strictly.”

“Then I am sure your income from the estate will be a handsome one.”

“Yes I know, as an income, but it is not pleasant to feel that I cannot sell anything if I wish to, just because my brother happened to have a crazy idea in his brain that his drowned daughter would come from the dead some day and need it. I declare, I lose all patience when I think of it.” She paced angrily up and down the room as she said this; in her heart was no feeling of sorrow for the loss of her brother, but rather one of baffled ambition at having all his wealth kept from her immediate possession.

“I do not know, Mrs. Maynard, but what if I had a daughter disappear as mysteriously as Mabel has, I should feel as Mr. Miller did.”

“Oh, nonsense! As I said before, it is an absurd idea that after all these months she should ever come back. And even if he had felt so, why couldn’t he have contented himself with putting the time at five years, instead of twenty, that the estate is to be held for her? I shall not want money then as I do now. Why, Mr. Faxon, do you realize that I shall be an old woman at the end of twenty years?”

“Not an old woman,” replied Mr. Faxon, for he was something of a diplomat and would not make so damaging an admission to any woman, much less to one of Mrs. Maynard’s disposition, as that such a thing were possible as for a lady to grow old. “Not an old women surely, Mrs. Maynard, but simply twenty years older, but you see it is then to go to Lucy and her children if she should have any. You, of course, will have your allowance.”

She made a quick dart, with her hand, toward the will which lay on the table between them. Mr. Faxon, however, saw her intention and coolly placed his hand over the papers, then, gathering them slowly up asked: “Did you wish to see that clause, Mrs. Maynard?”

“No, I remember now you did read such a condition, but it is unjust to rob me of what should rightfully be mine, just for a whim, and then, after waiting all those years, to see it slip through my fingers.”

She could no longer control her rage, but broke forth in a torrent of angry words, in the midst of which Mr. Faxon reached for his hat and bowed himself out.

CHAPTER XII.

“I declare, Lucy, I never heard of a woman as unreasonable as you are,” said Harry Howard to his wife one evening just after dinner, “you expect me to be at your beck and call every minute of the time.”

“No, Harry, I don’t, but I would like you to stay at home once in a while in the evening; I get so lonesome,” was the response.

“Lonesome? Why don’t you go out then?”

“Why Harry! How can I go out by myself? You know very well I can’t do that.”

“Can’t you? There are plenty of women who do. I don’t see what there is to prevent you from going if you like. All you have to do is to order the carriage and go.”

“Oh Harry, I don’t want to go any place without you. Why can’t you go with me occasionally, instead of going to the club every evening?”

“Thunder, I don’t care for your stupid balls and parties. You know that very well, and I am not going to be dragged about to so-called entertainments by anybody.”

“But, I don’t care very much for balls and parties myself, and really don’t care to go; but dear, I would like to have you stay quietly at home with baby and I once in a while.”

“Quietly at home,” sneered the handsome Mr. Howard, “oh, that is a pleasant prospect. And then talk about quiet; I don’t suppose that fine daughter of ours would air her lungs more than a dozen times during this same quiet evening.”

“Harry, how can you speak so of baby Mae? You know our darling has never been well and we can not expect her to be as good as other babies on that account, but if you will only stay home this evening, I will send her up stairs with the nurse, and then you will not hear her at all.”

“No, I might not hear her, but every five minutes you would be running up stairs to see if she had turned over in bed.”

“No, Harry, I promise you I will not go even once,” answered Lucy, trying to smile, “and if you will only stay we will have some music. I will play for you and you shall sing, as you used to before we were married.”

“Nonsense; that did well enough then but it is rather stale now. Come, don’t be foolish, I hate scenes, and if you knew how dreadful you look when you put on that doleful face, and cry like a baby, you wouldn’t do it.” This remark was called forth by the fact that Lucy was trying hard to repress the tears which would betray themselves. “And besides that, I can’t stay at home this evening if I wanted to, for I promised several of the boys at the club that I would come down; in fact, they would hardly let me come home to dinner.” He did not add that his only reason for coming home was to put on a dress-suit, in which he was already arrayed.

“I don’t believe there is another man who neglects his wife as you do me,” sobbed Lucy.

“Bah! I don’t neglect you; you have all the cash you need, don’t you, and you’ve got as swell a house and as many servants as ought to satisfy any woman. Then there isn’t a woman in the city who can beat your turnout when you go for a drive. Any one would think, to hear you talk, that I was a brute of a husband, instead of one who provides you with everything your heart could wish and let you have your way in everything. I declare I am sick and tired of women; you can never do enough for them. I have seen enough of women and I must say I am disgusted with the whole lot.”

Lucy was too indignant to make any answer, but hastily left the room. Mr. Howard surveyed himself critically in the long pier glass, turning himself this way and that. His appearance seemed to please him as he turned with a satisfied air to the door, through which he disappeared. Jumping into a waiting coupe, he gave an order to the driver, and was soon on his way, not to the club, but to the florists, where he found a magnificent bouquet awaiting him. He looked it over carefully; it proved satisfactory, and, handing the man a crisp ten dollar bill he drove rapidly away again, but still not to the club. The driver did not seem to need any instructions as to where to go, but soon drew up in front of a large, brilliantly-lighted house.

As Mr. Howard mounted the steps the door opened and two women appeared. Both were young and exceedingly good looking. They each gave him a hand and a warm welcome. To the taller of the two he handed the flowers, in which she immediately buried her face, and after giving them a little sniff, said: “You are a perfect jewel, Mr. Howard, to bring me these lovely flowers. I never saw anyone as delightfully thoughtful as you are.”

“If you are pleased with them I am happy, for to please you, what would I not do.”

“You are just too sweet for anything, to say such pretty things to me. But why are you so late? I have been looking for you ever so long.”

“Oh, its my wife again. She has been treating me to another lecture.”

“You poor fellow! So she is jealous? Well, I can’t blame her. I should be horribly jealous if I were your wife, you are so good looking, you know.”

Some way, this last remark of the gay Miss Rosie Hastings did not please Mr. Howard, for, although he cared really nothing for his wife, he did not like the idea that Rosie Hastings should for a moment imagine herself as his wife. For much as he frequented that lively young person’s home he did not like her to assume too much.

“But come,” she continued, “before the crowd gets here, lets you and I have a little music. I will play your accompaniments and you shall sing to me. I do so love to hear you sing.”

Could it be possible Harry Howard had forgotten the conversation of not an hour previous, as he replied, “that’s a capital idea. I am just in the mood for a few songs.”

One gay song followed another until the spacious rooms had begun to fill up with young men and women. There was an air of freedom about the young women which at once proclaimed them as not of the social set who feel the need of a chaperone. Dancing was soon begun and lasted well into the morning hours. Mr. Howard was one of those who seemed to enjoy the dancing immensely, notwithstanding the fact that he had told his wife that he cared nothing for that sort of thing.

After her husband had left the house, poor Lucy went sadly into the room where her year old baby was sleeping. Throwing herself on her knees, she buried her face in the downy covering of the little sleeper, sobbing, “oh baby, you do not know how wretched I am. I wish I could die. Two short years ago I was so happy, but now what have I left in life besides you, my frail little pet.”

CHAPTER XIII.

How happily the day sped on, the weeks ran into months bringing no change to this flower embowered kingdom of the sea. Etta and Mabel spent their time in learning to weave the beautiful, soft mats, in the plaiting of which they grew very skillful. They also made for themselves large hats of delicate white bamboo. These drooping, broad brimmed hats, when surrounded by wreaths of natural flowers and placed upon their heads, gave the girls an exceedingly quaint and picturesque appearance. Their girl friends of darker color also made hats for themselves, as women of whatever land or clime, are ever ready to follow a caprice of fashion which appeals to their ideas of the beautiful or useful. The girls had also become interested in teaching their language to a large number of the young people of Nahua and learning in return, the soft, poetic tongue of their entertainers. They learned to sing the sweet songs of tender love that seemed to float on the fragrant air, for there was music and dancing continually, as this happy people gave expression to their feelings without restraint.

One afternoon the two friends sat idly watching the soft play of the waves on the beach when Mabel suddenly said, “Do you know, Etta, if it were not for my father I believe I should never wish to leave Kaahlanai, but as it is I long for something to happen that I may once more see my father.”

“I feel as you do, Mabel. It is so pleasant here with these days of perpetual summer. There seems a feeling of perfect contentment to steal over one without one’s knowing why it is.”

“The reason is, I think,” replied Mabel, “that we have constantly around us those who are contented and happy, and there is nothing so contagious as contentment. They live to enjoy the beauties of God’s handiwork instead of striving continually after empty honors. To satisfy their eyes no painter’s skill is needed. They have but to look about them at dawn, when the first warm rays of sunlight bathe their home in a flood of beauty, or watch the soft little rain clouds as they drift slowly up from the south, and when it finally descends upon the grateful land in a shower of radiance, hanging glistening jewels on every branch and leaf, tipping with diamonds every trembling blade of grass, and watch the glorious hues of the rainbow, that arches in its loveliness their fair land. To watch the showers here fills my heart with a feeling of surprise at the beauty of it all.”

“Do you feel that way, too, Mabel?” broke in Etta, “I did not like to speak of it for fear you would laugh at my foolish notions, but that is just the way I have come to feel. And, do you know I could never see anything pretty in rain before? I always hated to see it rain at home, but here it is as you say, a shower of radiance.”

“Then,” continued Mabel, “the evenings! If the days are filled with loveliness, how much more the nights? Ah! At sunset to watch the sun, slowly losing itself in the sea, and as it sinks, throwing broad beams of shimmering crimson light far over the gently dappling waves until it reaches the shore line, as if it had stretched out a loving hand to give a gentle good-night touch with warm fingers to the land on which, all days in the year, the sun smiles. And then, after the sun has sunk to rest, to watch the pure cold moon appear, like a silver cimeter laid against the background of dark, rich plush of deepest blue, and see the twinkling worlds wake up one after another. I never see the stars appear here but what I think of that sweet little couplet:

‘Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,

Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the Angels.’

Then all is silent in a holy hush of expectancy. My whole being seems changed by the strange power of this hour of calm repose. Night! how divine is thy beauty beneath these southern skies. But we seldom have positive night; every time we say what a beautiful night we speak of a rift in the night through which comes to us more or less light. Many a night is but a low, starry day, a softened background against which shines the far-off suns of millions of other days. The world lies in a deep silence, and on fairy-like wings of sombre hue comes sleep to drug the world into happy repose.”

“Why, Mabel, I had no idea you were so poetical. Where did you get all your romantic ideas? I feel what you say, but could not give utterance to it as you do.”

“Well, my dear, there was a time when I would have shrunk from giving voice to the deep, true feelings of my heart, because I felt they would have been ridiculed. But here, among this people, I find that the best and most beautiful of their thoughts are freely given expression to, and the study of nature awakens the heart to beauty, truth and love.”

The two girls were still talking in this strain when a bevy of joyous, singing maidens broke in upon them with the request that they should join in a swimming contest. Gladly assenting to the proposal, the two girls joined their darker friends and soon all might be seen disporting themselves gaily in the water.

CHAPTER XIV.

The village of Nahua is again decked for the yearly festival of the maidens, but as yet no sounds of gaiety are heard; but if we bend our steps toward the shining beach we shall find it a scene for a painter. Beautiful children lie on the sand, or in childish play half bury themselves, heaping the bright sand high on their little bodies. Older children search for shells or bits of delicate coral. Young men and maidens may be seen in the water, some going far out to the reef on surf boards. Among these latter are Ahleka and Mabel, Ahleka guiding with skill the lightly floating board, while Mabel lies almost her full length upon it. It is not by any means the first time since her residence on the island of Kaahlanai that she has been surf riding, a pastime of which she is very fond, enjoying the excitement of it as keenly as any native girl.

“See!” she cried at length, to Ahleka, “every one has gone up to the village but ourselves. Shall we not go back?”

“Yes we will go back,” came the reply, “but only to the beach, not to the village.” He had noticed before she spoke, that the happy throng had left the beach while they were enjoying their ride, but had said nothing as he was glad to be alone with her. They were swiftly carried in shore on the crest of a rolling breaker which soon landed them on the beach.

As Ahleka stopped to draw in the surf board, Mabel started up to the beach in the direction of the village, but Ahleka called after her: “Mabel, will you not stay and walk in the sun until your hair is once more dry, and like the rays of the morning sun for brightness?” She returned, her damp hair clinging about her shoulders and bosom. They paced slowly up and down the silvery sand, and continued to do so long after her skirts of sea grass, and her hair were dry; but it was so pleasant to walk there in the fresh balmy morning air. Ahleka looked down at the little figure beside him, his eyes filled with the tenderest love. Mabel, glancing up, encountered his impassioned gaze, “Ahleka, my Ahleka,” she softly murmured, hardly knowing what she said.

In an instant, as his ear detected the tenderness in her voice, he caught her in his arms, holding her so closely as actually to hurt her.

“Ahleka,” she said, “I was going to ask why you did not join the young men in the festival of the maidens.”

“Oh, my love, could I join the young men to be chosen in marriage when she, whom I adore, does not join the maidens?”

“But I thought all unmarried men were obliged to join the ranks.”

“That is true, but the chief of each village is an exception, so I need not join unless I wish.”

While they had been talking, they had found a soft bank of deep moss under wide-spread trees. On this bank they now reclined, Ahleka holding Mabel’s hand in both of his.

“According to our custom I should have waited until you declared your love for me, but my father has explained the customs of your land to me, and I—oh, my love, my fair white lily, my precious moon maiden, can you love Ahleka?”

She raised her eyes to his, but before she could answer him, he had showered warm kisses over her face, neck and shoulders, in a transport of tenderness.

“Ah,” he cried, “if you say no; you love me not, I have kissed you, and that is happiness.” Then, as she lay passive in his arms, it filled him with a horrible dread, and he exclaimed:

“How can I expect that you will love me, who am only a savage at most, whose skin is black! What do I think of?”

“Do not speak so Ahleka, I do love you,” she whispered, putting her arm about his neck and nestling closely in his embrace; “I do love you; how could I help loving you after all your kindness to us.”

“No, that is gratitude, not love, if you feel that way,” he said, relaxing his hold of her form.

“No, no, Ahleka, I love you because I cannot help myself.”

“Then you will be my own? Mine forever, my little one,” drawing her again close in his arms.

“Yes, I am yours,” she seemed to breathe her reply.

“The yearly festival shall find us ever fond. We will join in the festival to-day, shall we not?” asked he.

“No, let us wait until the next festival. The months between will be so sweet, filled as they will be by our dream of happiness.”

“It shall be as you wish, but at least, we may stand among the young men and maidens and publicly acknowledge our choice.”

“Yes, my Ahleka, my prince among men, we will not be ashamed to acknowledge our love. Is it not strange that we two, born so far apart, having no knowledge of each other, and even speaking different languages, should now be held close in the embrace of love?” said she.

“It is fate, Mabel,” he answered, “you were born to be mine, you have braved unknown seas, escaping wreck, defying fire, and, in the face of death, been brought by the hands of fate safely to this unknown shore to be mine. It was decreed that you were to be mine, and no obstacle is too great to be overcome by fate. I thank the fates that have smiled upon us and brought us out of the darkness of the unknown into the happy light of love. Now I fear nothing that can happen unless it be the taking of your love from me.”

“Nothing can alter that, Ahleka.”

“In your own land, did you never love?” he asked, holding her to him in an agony of suspense. For he was not satisfied that she should love him now, but wanted to feel that he had been her only love.

“Never! Ahleka, never! The young men in my land are not nature’s children as you are, living pure and wholesome lives, but most of them are dissipated, and vicious creatures to be abhorred, rather than loved, or else, weak, worthless beings that no noble woman could give herself to without degrading herself. The men of my land do not study nature in her wondrous, varying moods, as you do. Nor do they make manly vigor and perfection their first aim in life. They have no time to give thought to these things; they are taken up in the mad rush in the pursuit of money.”

“And is not love before money?”

“No, in my land men and women work for money, beg for money, steal for money, marry for money, love for money. No, in all my life you are the only man, the purity of whose motives, whose highness of aim, whose nobleness of nature, has made him worthy of my devotion.”

He drew her yielding form closer, and stroked her sunny hair softly as he said, “We are from this moment consecrated to one another, and you shall never have one moment when the sunlight of happiness is dimmed, if Ahleka can keep the shadow from falling on the heart of her, who is dearer to him than life itself.”

How long the happy pair would have remained reclining under the fragrant trees, with the sweet songs of bright, winged birds, and the soft plash of the waves breaking at their feet, the only sounds to reach their ears, we cannot tell, if at that moment Etta and Kaelea had not come bounding down the beach in the direction of their retreat, Etta crying out to them:

“Oh, you idlers. Why are you not dressed for the feast? The hour of rest is over and every one is ready for the festival, except you two. What in the world have you been about, that you are not ready also?”

The pair of lovers were now on their feet and Ahleka answered, “We shall soon be ready. Come Mabel.”

Etta, full of mischief and realizing the situation, having seen Ahleka’s arm clasped around Mabel, called after them: “Mabel, don’t let him play the part of prince charming.”

Mabel blushed, for she remembered how angry that same remark had made her two years and a half ago. She made no answer, but cast a merry look back at the two girls who were following them to the village.

The usual merriment of the festival was indeed beginning as they reached the village, but it did not take either Ahleka or Mabel long to array themselves with fresh adornment for the feast, and take their place amongst the rest of the young men and maidens. Mabel had learned to dance the nui-nui, or maidens dance, as well as any of the young girls. Ahleka thought her doubly entrancing as her delicate proportions were so gracefully displayed by the movements of the dance. They soon left the ranks, returning to Ahleka’s father, and the rest who sat upon the mats.

Captain Thornton took Mabel in his arms and said: “May heaven bless you my child. I know you will be happy with Ahleka, for he is lovable, gentle and kind.”

Captain Gray looked at her, with a peculiar expression, and said to Etta: “I would never allow you to marry one of these black Apollo’s, so don’t you fall in love with one of them.”

Captain Thornton overhearing this remark, spoke up, “You make a mistake, my friend; if she loves one of our young men it is far better that she marry him, for she will not be happy otherwise, and you surely do not wish to see her unhappy.”

“No, I don’t want to see her unhappy,” Captain Gray answered, “but all the same, she shan’t marry on this island with my consent.”

Etta heard these words with a sinking heart, as there was a young man of the village of Howcu, the son of the young doctor, who had landed on the island with Captain Thornton’s party, with whom she already had had many a pleasant meeting in the lovely, shady groves that were so plentiful on the way between the two villages.

CHAPTER XV.

The days passed to the young lovers as a dream. All day long they would wander under the cool shade of the fragrant trees, listening to the songs of sweet-voiced birds, gathering flowers and weaving them into wreaths with which to adorn each other, or disporting themselves in the warm sea; Mabel had become a very expert swimmer. Gay groups of happy young people were constantly to be seen enjoying the delights of surf riding and swimming; our friends were often of the number.

So drifted on their happy life for three months, with no thought of care entering their lives, no idea of concealment of their pure love for one another, until one day, about three months after the festival, Ahleka came early to the cottage of the girls, bringing fruits and flowers to them, as it was his custom to do each morning. As Mabel met him at the door her loving eyes soon saw that there was something that troubled the heart of him whom she loved. Running to him, she asked: “What is it, Ahleka, what has happened?”

“My father,” he answered, “is sick. I know not what he says. He speaks of strange things of which I know nothing.”

“Oh, Ahleka, I will go to him. I am a good nurse and may be able to help Kaelea in caring for him.” So saying, she started in the direction of Captain Thornton’s cottage, Ahleka walking by her side.

“Mabel,” he said, “should I not go to Howcu to tell my father’s son, Allen, of his illness? and it tears my heart to think of leaving him now, when, perhaps, he may die at any moment, to go for the son whom he has only had with him so short a time. But he calls his name more often than mine, which shows that he loves the son of his fair wife, who died beyond the seas, better than he does the son of the wife who rests beneath our warm sun.” He spoke so tenderly, that Mabel was moved to tears, but answered: “No, Ahleka, I am sure he does not love Allen best, but he calls on Allen’s name, because he is away, while you are by his side. Can you not understand that?”

“Well, perhaps so, but at any rate I must go after him, so good-bye, sweet one.”

“Stay a moment. I am sure Captain Gray would be glad to go after Allen for you, and then you may remain by the side of your father. There he comes now.” Saying which she ran to the captain, who was now close behind them and made the request that he should go.

“Certainly, I will go, but first, Ahleka, I will see your father,” saying which he entered the cottage which they had reached while they were talking. He found Captain Thornton indeed very ill. He realized that if Allen was to see his father before he died that no time was to be lost. Captain Gray, in company with two Nahua boys, left immediately for Howcu to bring Allen to his father’s bedside.

Mabel was soon comforting Kaelea and trying to sooth her grief by tender words.

It was some time before Allen had reached his father’s bedside as the village of Howcu, as we have already explained, was on the other side of the arm of the sea which divided the island; so the trip had to be made partly by canoe and in part by land. The news of his father’s serious illness was a great shock to Allen, who immediately started, accompanied by Maula, for Nahua. On arriving there he was met by Ahleka who conducted him to their father. He saw at a glance that his father was very near the dread valley of death. The thought of losing his father was very hard to bear.

“Oh, father, why did you not send for me before!”

“My son, I was not ill until to-day, but now I know my days among you all are numbered, and before I die I want to talk to you of your future. It is my wish that you should remain always here, in this land of happiness.”

“Why, father, I am not likely to leave here. There seems no possibility of such a thing.”

“But still, Allen, the day may come when you will be given an opportunity to leave this heaven blessed land, and return to your own country. It is of that day I wish to speak. Think well, Allen, before you leave this paradise where all is happiness and contentment, where strife and contention are unknown, to return to the cold-hearted, calculating world to meet, you know not what evils, but remain here among a people who have their every want provided for by nature, thus relieving them of the drudgery of existence, where men live as God intended men should live; where love is love, not licentiousness; where each man is proud to claim his own children; where no woman blushes with shame when she beholds the fruits of her unhappy love; where the tender life of no unfortunate infant is taken that it may not be a living shame to the authors of its being. Here, in this land where money cannot buy man’s honesty or woman’s love. Here, my dear son, is to be found true happiness, and it is the dying request of your father that you live among this gentle, lovable people as your father has done.” The old man dropped his head upon his breast exhausted by his effort.

“Do not think,” replied Allen, “that I shall ever want to go back to a false state of civilization. I learned to despise it long before I landed here and now that I have lived here so long and have learned to appreciate the honesty and truthfulness of these people, I do not wish to leave them. And then, is not my wife, whom I love more deeply each day, one of these people? No, father, I shall never leave this land of plenty, peace and quiet. No, I am too happy, as I now live, to desire any change.”

Captain Thornton grew rapidly worse, and, ere the dawn of another day he had left the island, where he had passed so many peaceful years, for that unknown land beyond the grave. All day long could be heard the mournful wailing of the people of Nahua who had gathered around the house to mourn. The weird cries and the slow, measured beat of the tom toms that accompanied this peculiar chant was kept up all the day and night that Captain Thornton’s body lay unburied. The mourning was sincere, as the gentle old man had been loved as a father by the people of the island of Kaahlanai.

The next morning at daybreak, for in this hot climate the body could be kept no longer, funeral rites were held over the remains of Captain Thornton. The body had been wrapped in many layers of palm leaves and then placed in a slender, light canoe; it was now resting on a bier formed of branches of bamboo. The mourners are already gathered around, Ahleka, Allen and Kaelea having each placed a handful of lime on their heads as a token of their grief, it being the outward mark of mourning bourn by these peculiar people. The melancholy chant was still kept up. Eight young men having lifted the bier upon their shoulders, the funeral march began. On each side of the bier walked eight young girls, each having upon her head the customary handful of lime, and bearing in her hand a long wand of waving feathers; holding the wands so as to form an arch over the canoe which contained the dead. After them came Ahleka and Kaelea, Allen and Maula and next Mabel and Etta walking on each side of Captain Gray; following these came the chiefs and their families and the people of the villages, each one carrying a stone in one hand and branches of flowers in the other. The procession moved slowly up the hill which was to be the burial place. The broad disc of the rising sun was now to be seen coming slowly above the sea, throwing broad shafts of light over the water, dyeing the sky coppery red which shaded into gold, then into the softest tints of yellow as the rays ascended. It was a sight never to be forgotten by any of the little group who stood for the first time on this funeral mountain, looking out over the grief bowed heads of the throng of people, beyond the tree embowered islands, beyond the reef with the surf glistening and ever changing in the rays of the rising sun, far out to the glorious ruler of day. The canoe was now placed upon the ground, the company turned, and raising their sprays of flowers toward the sun, chanting an invocation to the source of light and warmth. One after another they drew near the canoe, beginning with Ahleka and Allen, placing upon it the flowers held in their hands until it was hidden from view beneath a fragrant mound. After all the flowers were deposited, the stones were piled high over them, making a rocky monument to mark the resting place of Captain Thornton—the Alii Mahina. Then slowly they retraced their steps to the village.

CHAPTER XVI.

One morning, about a month after the death of Captain Thornton, as Etta and Mabel were preparing for their morning bath in the ocean, they grew confidential, as girls are apt to do when arranging their toilets together.

“Mabel,” said Etta, “I envy you the freedom you enjoy in seeing Ahleka so often with none to interfere. How I wish I were in your place for I must meet Uala clandestinely, so that papa shall not know of our love. I hate to deceive papa, I am sure, but I don’t know what to do. Do you think I do right to meet him as I do?”

“Yes indeed, I think you are right to meet him if you love him. It would be far better if every woman would cling to the one man she loves; but you are not right in meeting him secretly. You should not be ashamed to acknowledge your love before all. When one is ashamed of their love it is not the pure, strong unchangeable passion that alone should be called by that name.” She spoke warmly, for she did not like this concealment on the part of her friend.

“But Mabel, you do not understand me at all. I am not ashamed of my love for Uala, but papa has said I should never marry any one on this island with his consent. Now what am I to do?”

“What are you to do? Be a true woman and let your holy love for the man who has won your heart, speak hereafter. Let it be his approval or disapproval you abide by. When you were a child you owed your obedience to your father, but now you are a woman with a woman’s love in your heart and you should obey that love, even if it is in opposition to your father’s will.”

“Would you have me marry Uala without my father’s consent?”

“Yes, by all means. You do not seem to realize that you are teaching deception to Uala, and, you know, deceit among this people is a thing unknown. Can you be the first to teach them, by example, that there are such things as deceit, untruth and dishonesty?”

“No, Mabel. No, you know that I don’t,” exclaimed Etta. “Do have some mercy on me. You forget how I am placed.”

“No, I do not forget,” answered Mabel, “but you do not belong to your father. You are not a slave. Your heart, your mind, your will, are yours and yours alone. When a father attempts to govern the love in his daughter’s heart he undertakes that which he has no right to; for nature has placed the feeling of love strong in the breast of every woman, and whoever tries to thwart that love, should realize that they are responsible for whatever of deceit, wrong doing and shame that may follow. Half of the blighted, unhappy women of the world are made so, either by the interference of others, in their love affairs, or by their own weakness in not daring to marry a man if his so-called social position is not equal to their own, or whose purse is not long enough to satisfy their soaring ambition. If women married those they loved and none else, as is done here, we should have no scandals in high life to shock us, as is now constantly the case. Oh, stop this deceit, Etta, it is unworthy of you! Be a true woman. There is no virtue more to be admired in woman than sincerity, and if you love Uala, as you say——”

“Oh, Mabel! can you doubt my love?” broke in Etta. “I love him with my whole heart, but I did not realize how false my conduct was, until now that you have shown me how wrong I have been. I will tell papa everything at once, and if he disapproves, as I know only too well that he will, I shall do as you say, hold fast to my resolution, as I know I shall always love Uala, and should be wretchedly unhappy without him.”

“I am glad, Etta dear, that you have come to so womanly a decision.”

“Do you suppose Mabel, that your father would approve of your marriage with Ahleka if he know of it?”

“Yes,” answered Mabel, “I am quite sure he would. It was from his dear lips that I learned to think on the subject of marriage as I do.”

After they had had their bath, Etta went directly to her father to tell him of her love for Uala. It was a hard task, but she now saw her duty and was determined to do it. After throwing her arms about his neck, and kissing him, she dropped in a graceful little heap upon the mat at his feet, and began: “Papa, do you love me very much?”

“What a question, why child, you are all in the world I have left to love. Of course I love you.”

“But, papa, do you love me lots and lots, as I used to say when I was a little thing?”

“I love you more and more every day of your life, my dear child.”

“Then you want me to be very happy, don’t you papa dear?” An odd expression passed over the face of Captain Gray, as he replied:

“Want you to be happy? of course I do, you little kitten. If I were in America now, after all this coaxing, I should expect a request to buy you a seal skin jacket, but as this climate won’t do for seal skins, and they are not to be had any way, I don’t know what I am expected to give this little tease to make her so wonderfully happy.” His tone and words were light and playful, but his face was stern, for he more than half guessed what she meant to ask.

“Oh, papa,” she cried, “I know I am going to make you angry but I cannot help it. I love Uala. Will you give your consent to our union?”

“Never! How can you ask for my consent to marry a black beggar?”

“Oh, papa! he is so manly and I love him with my whole heart.”

“Then the sooner you stop loving him the better, is all I’ve got to say, for you shan’t marry that black-skinned hound.”

“Papa,” said Etta, rising to her feet, her whole manner changed in a moment, from girlish playfulness to womanly dignity. She had been stung by her father’s scornful words. “Papa, you have always been a kind and affectionate father to me and my love and respect for you could not be greater; but from to-day my love and respect is also given to another. His, I am in heart and his I shall remain forever.”

“How dare you defy me!” he cried, “you shall never marry him, even if I have to——” What he would have said farther will never be known, for the sentence was never finished.

CHAPTER XVII.

Mabel interrupted the conversation at this point by rushing up to Captain Gray and Etta, exclaiming: “What can be the matter! Listen, what is it?” Listening a moment they could hear the shouts of hundreds of voices, which before, they had been too much occupied to notice. As they looked, they saw Allen running in the direction of the village, waving his arms wildly; he was closely followed by hundreds of the inhabitants of Howcu, all gesticulating and shouting. The sight filled the hearts of Mabel, Etta and Captain Gray with a horrible fear. Allen had, perhaps, done something to anger the people of his village and they were pursuing him that they might wreak their vengeance upon him, and he, in his extremity, had come to Nahua to seek protection with them. The thought filled the heart of each of the three, as they saw the mad rush onward of the men and women who followed him. Mabel ran to Ahleka, who was crossing toward the place where the two frightened girls and Captain Gray stood. Throwing herself into his arms she cried, “Save us Ahleka, save us! Do not let them kill your brother. Call on your young men to get their spears in readiness to protect us from these people.” He held her closely in his arms but laughed heartily at her fears. “Why, my precious moonflower, it is a shout of joy, not a battle cry you hear. There has happened some great thing at Howcu and they are coming to tell us of it.”

By now, Allen had reached them and dropping, almost exhausted, upon the ground, exclaimed: “A ship! A ship!”

“What do you say, a ship? Do you mean that you have seen a ship?” asked the listeners, in a breath.

“Yes, a vessel of some description. I do not know whether it is a ship, a barque or what. But whatever she is, she is making for the island, I am sure.”

The listeners could hardly believe their ears; they quickly ascended the burial hill, which was the highest point on the island. They could then plainly see the vessel, which Captain Gray pronounced to be a barque. She was some little distance out, but it was evident that she meant, in some manner, to reach the island. The anxious group watched every movement of the men, who could be seen lowering away a boat, which was manned by eight sturdy sailors. They finally set out for the island. Now, there was but one safe approach to that side of the island, and that was at the point where Captain Gray and his party had come ashore three years before.

A party, consisting of Captain Gray, Allen Thornton and four Nahua boys, had already left for the spot where their boat had remained since their landing on the island, safely moored under a huge rock, as it had been considered best to leave it there, its size making it inconvenient to carry it across the island to the village. It had been used occasionally for fishing excursions. Having arrived where the boat was lying, they quickly loosened her from her moorings, set her afloat and were soon threading the narrow channel between the treacherous coral reefs, out to meet the boat that was seeking a landing place.

The ship’s boat was now hid from their view by projecting rocks but they were not long in getting clear of most of the obstructions in their way, as they were well used to this tortuous little channel. When they appeared in full view of the approaching crew the effect was startling. The sailors turned suddenly, and with redoubled energy rowed toward the vessel; they were fleeing in terror from what they imagined to be hostile natives, come out to capture them, and their only chance of safety seemed to them to lie in reaching their vessel. Captain Gray and Allen as soon as they discovered how their party had frightened those to whom they were so anxiously hurrying, began to halloo to them. At first the fleeing crew paid no heed, except to renew their efforts to reach their ship. Finally they halted, and apparently listened; then, as if they had assured themselves that it was really English that they heard, they turned their boat a second time toward the land.

It was but a few moments before the two boats were close together. Captain Gray addressed the newcomers. He was answered by the mate of the vessel who was in command of the boat. “We belong to the Eliza Judd,” said he, “and such a knocking about as we’ve had ain’t often come my way, though I’ve been to sea off an on these twenty odd years. I’ll tell ye now, we’ve had a tough time of it.”

“Where do you come from?” asked Captain Gray.

“We hail from New Zealand, and are bound for San Francisco, but we have had such bad weather and been delayed so long that our stock of fresh water, which was not large at the start, has given out and under this devilish hot sun we can’t stand it long without water. So, sighting this island, the captain made up his mind he would land in search of fresh water and run the chance of meeting with unfriendly natives, but by George, we didn’t expect to find the island inhabited by whites.”

“Well, the island not exactly inhabited by whites, as you suppose, for we are only a small party of shipwrecked travellers. We have been here for three years, and I can tell you we will be glad enough to get a chance to leave.”

While this conversation was taking place the two boats had reached the shore where a large body of natives had collected. The two girls were also there. The excitement was intense, as, of course, all realized that the coming of this vessel furnished means of escape from the island.

“Where do you live?” inquired Mate Jenkins. “This don’t look like the likeliest place in the world to live in, now, does it?”

“I must say, this side of the island is not a promising looking place,” replied the captain, “but the other side is quite different, in fact, it is a delightful place, if it were not that we are in exile here.”

“How is the water supply on this side?”

“Fine; it couldn’t be better or handier. Right beyond that next turn, is a stream of water as sweet and pure as one could find in many a month’s travel.”

“Now, I swan, that’s good. I didn’t know but what we’d have to bring it over from the other side.”

The work of filling casks which they had brought with them, and conveying them to the ship was soon begun.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The excitement caused by the arrival of the Eliza Judd was intense, as she was the first craft the islanders had ever seen, with the exception of the life-boat in which Captain Gray and his companions had come ashore. The water was soon dotted by dozens of canoes, bearing them out to inspect this wonder of man’s creation.

“Well, is your trunk all packed for the trip home?” asked Captain Gray, with a laugh, of Mabel, who stood near him.

“Well, I must say, our packing will not take us long,” she replied, “but do you know, Captain Gray, I hate to leave the island of Kaahlanai? I have been so happy here.”

“Oh, nonsense, what do you find here to make you forget the life of your own country, except it may be, your handsome rascal Ahleka. There lies the secret of your liking for this country, I expect.”

“Oh, of course, that has something to do with it; but still there is so much more real enjoyment in the lives of these people than at home, that I cannot bear to leave it all.”

“By the way, when you get home again, what do you think your father is going to say to your attachment for Ahleka? I think myself, that he will soon put a stop to it. If he does not, he is not the sensible man I take him to be.”

“He cannot put a stop to it,” said Mabel, firmly, then turned to join Ahleka who stood a few steps away. The two lovers, leaving the rest of the party, walked on in silence for some time, the heart of each too full for speech. Finally coming to a clump of trees, under which the grass was thick and long, they sat down.

Ahleka was the first to break the silence by saying: “Are you going to leave Ahleka, my fair moon flower? Are you going to leave fair Kaahlanai, the isle of the sun, and once more return to your own home far across the water? What shall I do, my love, if you leave me?”

“Yes Ahleka, my prince. I must leave Kaahlanai and return to my own land, for there my father mourns for me. I was his only happiness and I must go back to him; but the thought of being separated from you is as bitter to me as it is to you. But why cannot you go with me; then my father may bless our union.”

“Do you wish me to go? You know that your wish is my law. You have but to make a request and it shall be granted, even if it costs my life. Yes, if it is your wish I will go.”

“It is my wish, and you have made me so happy by your consent. Now my heart shall not be so sad at leaving Kaahlanai, where I have been so content and happy, where I have learned so much that is pure and true.”

“But,” queried Ahleka, “will you still love me when you have once more seen the difference between myself and the men of your own nation? Will your heart still beat alone for him whose life is worthless without your love?”

As he spoke he suddenly caught her in his arms and held her closely to him, looking into her eyes with an expression almost fierce, so intense were his feelings.

“Ah, Ahleka, I can never love any one but you. You are the one man, in all the world to me. I love you far better each day. I would do anything to prove my love to you.”

“Would you? Suppose I were to try your love in the shape of physical suffering?”

“Ask whatever proof you wish, I will give it willingly,” was the answer to his strange question.

“In the olden times,” he began, “when the different villages of Kaahlanai were unfriendly to one another, they were continually at war, and when the warriors left to fight for their village, it was their custom to ask of their wives a proof of their love and devotion. This proof consisted in cutting from the arm of the wife a small piece of flesh and a corresponding piece from the husband’s arm, and transferring the flesh of one arm to the other. Can your love stand so severe a test?”

Mabel looked at him a moment and then quietly said, “I love you, Ahleka, there is my arm; do as you please with it,” at the same time extending her fair, round arm, which was bare, except that a number of shell bracelets adorned it. Ahleka took her hand and covered the delicate arm with his impassioned kisses.

“We will go,” he said, “to Kalui. He will perform for us, the test of faith.” Kalui was an old man of Howcu, who attended the sick, if there were any on the island. Howcu was much nearer the little cove where they were seated than was Nahua. On reaching the house of Kalui, Ahleka quickly made known to him the object of their visit. The old man was surprised at the request, for it had been many a year since he had been called upon to assist a loving couple in making this painful avowal of their devotion. Turning to Mabel, he asked, “And can the maiden endure the pain? can she stand the sight of the blood? If she is willing to do this, she does indeed, love Ahleka.”

“Yes,” answered Mabel, “I am determined.”

The bronzed arm of Ahleka was now held firmly in Kalui’s left hand, while in his right he held a little instrument resembling a pair of scissors. He quickly cut a piece of quivering flesh from the arm, above the elbow. Ahleka instantly placed his finger over the bleeding wound. Mabel then extended her arm, at the same time averting her head. In an instant the cruel cut was made, and the dark hued circle from Ahleka’s arm was placed in the wound on Mabel’s arm, which was quickly bound about with soft fibre cloth; then, the little white bit of skin was bound on Ahleka’s arm. Thanking Kalui, they retraced their footsteps to the beach.

“Now Ahleka, do you doubt my love?” enquired Mabel, as they walked slowly back.

“No, I do not doubt you, how could I? but I have a terrible dread of the difference you will see between the young men of your country and myself. They have the advantage of me in education, refinement, in fact in everything.”

“Not in everything, and really, but in very few things; not in refinement, surely, for no refinement can be greater than true manliness. You have been taught to be honest, generous, gentle and just, and no amount of education could make you more fit to be loved, trusted and honored than you are. In the knowledge of books, and in the ways of the world beyond your own beautiful island, you are, to be sure, untaught. But that is a little matter; you can soon learn all you need to know of that.”

“Is it true that you feel so? But still, I fear that when you see me ridiculed and made light of, on account of my ignorance, your heart will grow cold toward me.”

“Never while I live, can that happen, Ahleka. The woman is not worthy the name, who would let the words or actions of others turn her against the man she has promised to love.”

Ahleka bent over her and gently touched his lips to her shining hair. “Ah,” said he, “could any man have sweeter proof of woman’s love than you have given to me!”

They had, by this time, reached the beach where the sailors from the Eliza Judd and the inhabitants of Kaahlanai were collected. As they approached, Captain Gray addressed them, “The task of supplying the Judd with water is about completed. The captain and part of the crew are going over to the village to have dinner with us. Then before sunset, we will return here, whence we will take the boats for the Judd and at last be on our way home.”

CHAPTER XIX.

“Now, that you have seen our island-home, what do you think of it?” inquired Mabel of Captain Harris, of the Eliza Judd. “Do you not think it a most delightful place?”

“Well, I can’t say as I would like to live here the rest of my days myself; but of course it’s all right for them that like it,” answered Captain Harris.

“Oh, it is so lovely here. I cannot imagine a pleasanter place in the world.”

“Is that so, now? but all seem mighty glad to go away from it all the same. How do you account for that, young lady?”

“We are not all glad to leave. There are some of our party who will not go, but will always make their home on this island, and I should not leave it, were it not for my father; but I feel it my duty to go back to see him.”

“Come, girls,” said Captain Gray, “have you said good-bye to all your friends? It’s about time we left for the cove. Come, Ahleka, we may as well start, for, to tell the truth, I am in something of a hurry to get off.”

The party soon left for the other side of the island, where the boats were waiting for them. On the way over to the boats Etta managed to have a few private words with Uala. Arriving at the beach, Uala went to Captain Gray and said, “Captain Gray, your daughter and I have long loved one another, but we have forborne to speak until to-day, as we had hoped, in time, that you would reverse your decision that she should not marry on Kaahlanai. Now we beg your consent to our union. I will go to America and will study that I may be more her equal. Will you not consent?”

Captain Gray’s face was fairly purple with rage as he answered, “No, you black rascal, I would rather see her die before my eyes than have her marry you.”

Etta clung closely to Uala, saying, “And I would rather die than be parted from Uala.”

Uala’s manner quickly changed, and turning again to Captain Gray, he said, “I bow to your right, as a father, but if I must give up all thought of Etta, may I at least ask a few moments conversation with her, a few steps apart from the rest, that I may say good-bye to her forever.”

Captain Gray could but grant this request, which was so humbly made. The two walked a short distance down the rocky side of the cove to a place where there was a most curious cave, called by the islanders ama wai, or spouting waters, on account of its peculiar formation. The mouth lay deep beneath the bed of the sea and there was an outlet reaching up to where they stood. Through this outlet came the spray of the boiling, seething waters, which rushed madly through the cave below. As they stood on the brink of this cave, in full view of Captain Gray, and the group gathered on the beach, Uala, whose strong, wild nature was moved by the distant sobbing and roaring of the surf, bent over Etta, whispering in her ear: “You said, a short time ago, you would rather die than be separated from me; do you mean it?”

“I do,” came the response.

“Then, we shall go together to the bottom of this cave where dwells the sea god,” saying which he threw one strong, sinewy arm about her yielding form, and, with one wild plunge both were lost to view beneath the surging, seething mass of water. They had hardly disappeared beneath the engulfing waves before Captain Gray was at the mouth of the cave, calling upon the name of his daughter.

About an hour afterwards Captain Harris approached Captain Gray and said: “Captain Gray, if you are going with us, we will have to set out for the vessel right away. I hate to intrude on your sorrow for the loss of your daughter, but, if we are going to get away from the island to-night, we have got to weigh anchor right off, for I daren’t stay long in this neighborhood, for, as you know it’s a devilish place for storms and I’ll be mighty glad to get clear of these coral reefs, which are very pretty things to look at from the shore, with the breakers dashing over them; but they are deucedly ugly things for a vessel to be too close to, and you know how very treacherous the winds are in these parts. If we stay much longer we may be dashed, like a bit of drift wood, clean upon that ragged reef. Will you come with us, or will you stay that you may, perhaps, regain the body of your daughter?”

Captain Gray turned toward him with a face horribly changed in the last brief hour, and answered in a dazed manner, “Yes, I will go. I want to leave this place that has robbed me of my child. Why, oh why have I been made to witness the awful death of each member of my family? Yes, I want to leave this accursed island,” saying which he walked slowly away from the cave, where Etta and Uala had sunk from sight, and accompanied Captain Harris to the boat, in which Mabel was already seated.

The farewells were loving and sorrowful between the departing loved ones and those they were leaving behind. About the necks, upon the heads and around the waists of Ahleka and Mabel had been placed many a fragrant leis, or wreath, wrought by loving hands.

“Good-bye, Allen, my brother. May the sun of happiness never be dimmed for you and Maula, my sister. May your lives be as a day in the time of the blossoming of the fiku-trees, which are so perfect as to leave nothing to be longed for. May your children be as straight as young palm-trees, and as unchangeable in their devotion to their parents, as is the pearl, which, through life or death clings to the oyster which produces it. Now that I am leaving my people, you two will rule over them. Govern them with love, and that love will be returned to you a thousand fold. Our sister, Kaelea, I give into your keeping until the next festival, when she, under your guidance, shall rule her people,” saying which, Ahleka embraced Allen and Kaelea for the last time, then stepped into the boat which was to bear him to new sensations and strange experiences amidst civilization. As the boat pulled off to the Eliza Judd, a sweet song of sad regret was borne over the water to the travellers. Of the seven who had landed on this happy shore three years before, only three were now leaving, Captain Gray, Mabel Miller and Hans who was going back to his dear loving wife whom he loved so devotedly, and to his fat, little cherub, Katrina.

“Ah, Katrina, won’t she be glad to see her papa again, though;” how often, during that happy day, did this thought occur to Hans. The other two sailors had found the ideal life of Kaahlanai too pleasant to leave. Allen was true to his word to his father and his love for his beautiful wife Maula; in fact, he had not the slightest longing to again visit the realms of civilization. Then Etta, bright, happy Etta, was beneath the waves of the ever changing sea.

When the Eliza Judd had received her new-found passengers, she seemed to arouse herself from a summer day’s sleep, and give herself a shake to see if she were really awake, for no sooner was the boat hoisted to the davits then the sails were swiftly unfurled, and, as they quickly filled with the fresh breeze, the Eliza Judd stood out to sea, like a bird that has been imprisoned, spreads its wings and starts on its glad flight to freedom. This majestic vessel, going noiselessly on her way, was a sight that aroused the wonder and admiration of the watchers on the beach.

CHAPTER XX.

After losing sight of Kaahlanai, the party of travellers on the Eliza Judd turned their attention to providing themselves with clothing, which would at least be presentable for them to appear in when they should reach America. It was easy enough to fit out Captain Gray, Ahleka and Hans from Captain Harris’ store of clothing, but Mabel, what was she to do for wearing apparel? That was the question. Sheets were made by her deft fingers to serve as under garments, and some brown linen, which had been used to cover chairs and a couple of couches, was turned into a dress that was surprisingly becoming, considering the material used in its construction. Mabel’s preparations to step ashore in San Francisco were completed the day before arriving there.

“Now, Ahleka, how do you like my appearance?” Mabel inquired, after having arrayed herself in her simple garments.

“You always look charming in my eyes,” he replied, “still, I cannot but think that the costume of our country allows more freedom of movement, and on that account it is much more graceful and becoming.”

“Yes, what you say is true and I admit that I hate to put on again the uncomfortable clothes which women wear in my own land.”

“What is that you say Mabel?” broke in Captain Gray. “Do you mean to say that you like the hideous dress of the heathens that we have lived amongst for the past three years?”

“Captain Gray, they are not heathens. Their religion is the true religion. They worship the bestower of all good; they see the beautiful works of God all about them and give him the glory. Their religion is sincerity, purity and love. What more can there be in any religion?”

“You talk it very nicely Mabel, and I presume you believe what you say; it is as well that you do, as you are going to marry Ahleka; but I said, and I meant it too, that I would rather see Etta die than have her marry one of those heathens, and, mourning for my dead child as deeply as I do, I still say that I would rather have her dead than married to Uala or any other beggarly, black-skinned rascal.”

“Captain Gray, your daughter is not dead,” broke in Ahleka. “She has a much happier fate, for, in all likelihood, she is, before this time, happily united to the man of her choice, from whom she would not part at the command of her father.”

“What do you mean, Etta not dead? Do you mean to say that she was not drowned in the sea-cave? Why didn’t you tell me before we left the island, that she might still be alive?” exclaimed Captain Gray.

“Because,” replied Ahleka, “I knew that you would part those two fond hearts which nature had intended for each other.”

“You worthless wretch! how dared you keep it from me, her father? But what better could I expect from you, a fellow of no principle or education, than, trickery or deception.”

“You wrong me, Captain Gray; you never asked me of the possibility of Etta being still alive or I should have felt that I must tell you the truth, however much I disliked to do so. But, as you asked no one the question, none felt called upon to betray to you the probable safety of Etta and Uala, as it would not be keeping faith with those whom we had every reason to wish to aid in their plan of escape.”

“You are an accursed lot and——”

“Captain Gray, how dare you speak so of the people, who for three years, have done everything possible for your comfort and happiness,” exclaimed Mabel. “I left home in your vessel respecting you as my father’s friend, but I never wish to speak again to you, a man who has shown himself dead to all feelings of gratitude, lost to all sense of justice. How can you blame any one for the fact that Etta obeyed the dictates of her conscience and heart?” Having said which, Mabel took Ahleka’s arm and walked rapidly to the other end of the vessel. It was with a feeling of relief that she realized that on the next day they should in all probability reach San Francisco, then she would no longer be thrown in contact with a man so repulsive to her as Captain Gray had become.

It was indeed true, as Ahleka had said, Uala and Etta were not dead. After the first wild plunge into the rushing waters, Uala had pressed on with Etta clasped by one arm, until they came to a large, open space, where the floor of the cave was smooth and raised so that no water reached it; it was, in fact, an immense under-ground cave. After carrying Etta to a place of safety, he threw himself down beside her, showering frantic kisses upon her upturned face. “My little sea queen, you have braved the terrors of the deep, and faced death for my sake. Now, when I feel sure that the vessel has left, we will go back together, to life and happiness See, here are things provided for you to eat,” pointing to a liberal supply of food, which was placed on a ledge of rocks, high out of the reach of the waves, “and here is kapa to keep the delicate limbs of my dear one warm,” saying which he opened a water-tight calabash, from which he took some fine fiber cloth and wrapped about her.

“I came here while the rest were at the village at their supper, and brought these things, so that, if my fair one came here with me, she should at least not suffer from cold or hunger.”

The hours passed unheeded by the happy pair until, finally, Etta dropped into a sweet sleep. When she awoke, Uala, who had remained awake that he might see that no harm befell Etta, said, “I think that, by this time, the sun shines again above us. I will go to the opening of the cave and learn if the ship is still here.”

“Oh Uala, do not leave me here. I was not afraid to come with you, but I am so afraid to stay for one moment without you,” cried Etta, clinging to his arm.

“I shall not leave you for one moment, but do you see those large leaves floating in the water over there? On those leaves, in all likelihood, is a message sent to me by friends above.”

“Do others know of this cave then? Will they not tell my father?” she asked in some alarm.

“No, do not fear. None of my people would betray a friend. But, let us see the message,” saying which he advanced to a place where several large leaves were revolving slowly in the water, being carried about by the whirlpool. Catching hold of a couple of these, he found that it was as he had thought. They each bore a message, written on their smooth surface with the point of a sharp stick.

“See, Etta,” he exclaimed, “it is just as I thought. We are free. Your father has gone. Now we will return to our friends.”

Holding her tightly in his arms, he made a spring into the center of the pool. Instantly they were carried upward by the mad rush of water. In a moment they stood breathless and safe on the rocky beach once more.

“Look Etta, there are our friends who have waited here for our return.” A large body of young people rushed toward them, singing and shouting. They soon covered the dripping pair with garlands of flowers, and bore them away to the village of Howcu, to the home of Allen and Maula, where a grand feast had been prepared for the returning merry makers. The lives of these two were, from that day forth, a dream of happiness.

CHAPTER XXI.

The morning was bright and beautiful on which the Eliza Judd, with her returning wanderers, arrived at the dock at San Francisco.

As they stepped ashore it seemed strange to once more hear the commotion and bustle of a large city, the cars rumbling, the blowing of the whistles and a thousand and one noises which go to form the city’s din. To Ahleka, it was not only confusing, but also startling.

“What is that we hear,” he asked of Mabel, “is there war in your land?”

Mabel laughed heartily as she replied, “No, that is the noise made by the march of civilization. It is no army of warriors that you hear, but the vast army of workmen pursuing their daily vocations, but I confess it does have a dreadful sound. But come, let us take a carriage to my father’s home;” at which they stepped into a carriage, and after giving the address of her old home, they were driven rapidly from the wharf. Ahleka was much interested in the horses. As they were driving along he remarked, “Who would have thought how pleasant it is to be carried along in this manner, without the slightest effort on one’s own part? Those immense structures that lift their heads so nearly to the sky, what are they?”

“Oh, those? They are simply the buildings that are considered necessary for the business of the city.”

“Is that so? I thought, perhaps, they were monuments to the dead, as you have told me that your people erect such magnificent tributes to their heroes.”

“They are, indeed, monuments to the dead, but not raised in their honor as you suppose. Thousands of the poor have worked, suffered and died, that a few men might reap rich harvests of gold, and it is that gold which has built these magnificent buildings. For the thousandth part of the money that it takes to build one of these structures, hundreds of men have slaved out horrible existences, and have died without one gleam of gladness ever having come into their lives.”

“But why does your ruler permit this? Why are not all alike, happy and equal as in my land?”

“Ah, Ahleka, this is civilization. It would never do for every one to be happy in this enlightened country. Equality is only to be found in savage life. Such a thing as universal contentment could not be allowed here. To keep the thousands from making any attempt at equality, it requires the foot of prosperity to be kept firmly and constantly on the neck of adversity.”

“But, Mabel, I thought that your country was different from other countries. I thought that here, all men were free and equal, that one man was as much respected as another, if he were honest and industrious. That is what my father used to tell me. He has many times told me that your country was the haven of refuge for the poor but honest men of all other lands. Is this not true?”

“No, not in practice. It is the theory which we hold, but, alas! we do not put into practice. It is the man who has heaped up gold that is honored. Wealth, not worth, is the standard by which men are measured now-a-days.”

As Mabel finished this remark the carriage stopped in front of a substantial looking dwelling. Mabel sprang lightly out crying, “Come, Ahleka, we are home.”

The bell sounded merrily, as she gave it a quick ring. It was answered by her aunt, Mrs. Maynard, who, upon opening the door, regarded the pair standing in front of her with a look of bewilderment for a moment, then exclaimed, “Good heavens! Mabel, is it possible that you have come back? But what a fright you do look in those clothes. Where in the world did you get them? You look as if you had just come out of the ark. And what is this——”

Before she could say another word, Mabel interrupted her with: “This is Ahleka, the king of the island of Kaahlanai Aunt Kate, it is due to the kindness of himself and his people that I am able once more to see you; for it is they who have cared for my every want since we were shipwrecked. But where is my father? Why don’t you tell him that I am at home?”

As they had been talking, they had entered the parlor, and Mrs. Maynard had seated herself as if there was nothing further to do, than to hear all about Mabel’s adventures.

“Poor girl,” exclaimed Mrs. Maynard, “how thoughtless I am. I forgot that of course you could not hear anything that had happened here at home, when all this time we have not known where to send any letters to you. Poor child, how lonesome you must have felt. How could you stand it?”

“Oh aunt Kate, don’t talk of anything else, until you have told me of my father. How is he and where? Is he at home? I want to go to him this very minute.” As Mabel said this she started toward the door.

“Mabel, dear, come back and sit down,” said Mrs. Maynard, putting a daintily embroidered handkerchief to her eyes, which, to tell the truth, bore no traces of tears. “Your father,” she continued “is dead. He has been dead for two years and over; he died—let me see, it was just ten months after you left home. Of course we could not send you word as we thought that you were drowned; in fact, I may say your father just worried himself to death thinking of you, although I told him, time and again, it was so foolish of him, for, if you were dead it couldn’t be helped, and if you were alive, you would likely be taken care of someway, as it really happened, you see. I never could see the sense of worrying over things that way, but, my poor, dear brother was different.” Mabel sat as if suddenly turned to stone, while her aunt delivered this long diatribe. Slowly she seemed to recover herself and turned to her aunt a face that was ashy in its pallor, as she almost whispered:

“Dead! Aunt Kate, did you say dead? Oh! I never thought of this. My father who was always so strong, dead! I always thought of him as broken hearted by the loss of his daughter. Oh, my father, my father.” As these words passed her lips her body swayed forward slowly and she would have fallen to the floor, if Ahleka had not caught her in his arms. He laid her gently on a couch, which stood near a window, supporting her head on his arm. Mrs. Maynard rushed here and there about the room in a fruitless search for some restorative, wringing her hands and crying: “Oh dear, this is just like Mabel; she always did do such unexpected things. I never saw any one like her.”

“Get some water,” said Ahleka, briefly, “and call some one who can assist her.”

“I will get the water, but dear me I don’t want any one to see her until she is properly dressed; for, of course, as she has just heard of her father’s death she must put on mourning, even if he has been dead two years.” With this she left the room, soon returning with the water Ahleka had asked for.

Mabel slowly regained a sort of semi-consciousness, but for hours she lay as motionless as one dead, except that her eyes sometimes moved slowly about the room. The physician who had been summoned, gravely shook his head as one remedy after another failed to have the desired effect. The next day he pronounced it a case of brain fever.

For days Mabel hovered on the borders of the shadowy land of death. Ahleka scarcely left her bedside, night or day, not withstanding the fact that Mrs. Maynard was horrified at the frightful impropriety of such a proceeding; in spite of all she would say or do, he would stay.

CHAPTER XXII.

Mabel’s convalescence was slow and tedious, and, had it not been for the constant attendance of Ahleka in the sick-room, Mabel would have found it hard to endure the weary days. Mrs. Maynard was glad to leave the care of Mabel to her daughter, Lucy Howard, who was most devoted in the care of the sick girl. Lucy had remained at her mother’s house all through Mabel’s illness. She grew more and more attached to the gentle invalid each day. Mabel’s strong, self-reliant nature was so different from her own. Lucy was one of those women to whom love and kindly treatment seem a necessity of life. She had looked for love from her mother, but Mrs. Maynard was not a woman capable of any really true, deep feeling, and when her daughter had failed to be a social success she could only meet Lucy’s longing for sympathy, with disappointed repining, and complaints that Lucy was herself responsible for her own unhappiness.

In Lucy Howard’s married life had been no gleam of happiness, not even in the first few months of wedded life did Mr. Harry Howard think it necessary to defer to his wife’s wishes in anything, for, he would say to himself, “She married me for money and she has got what she married me for; while I married her because, well, just because I thought she would make me a stunning wife. But, bah! She is as insipid as stale champagne. What man wants a wife who acts as she does? If I’d had the least idea that she would have fallen in love with me, her own husband, I wouldn’t have married her, I swear I wouldn’t. For, about the most unpleasant thing a man can have happen to him is to have a woman fall desperately in love with him. They’re so exacting.” In this way the dashing Mr. Howard commiserated himself. The fact that the heart of this charming girl of eighteen, who possessed a sweet, affectionate disposition, in spite of the false training given her by her mother, should have turned to him with a vast longing for his love in return, had struck him as not a pleasant thing. During the past three years he had shamelessly neglected her, until now, Lucy felt only an intense loathing when she thought of her husband, the father of her little Mae.

During the time that Mabel was still confined to her room, the most affectionate friendship had sprung up between the two cousins. Lucy had confided to Mabel the troubles with which her life was so full. One evening the two had been sitting for some time without speaking, when suddenly Lucy exclaimed:

“Mabel, I wish I could take my little Mae away from all this world of pretense and falsity, to some place where she would grow up among those who are pure and true in their lives. I have thought many times—but that was before you came home—that I would take my little daughter and enter a convent; there, in religious seclusion, to bring her up free from the knowledge of the hollowness of the world.”

“I am thankful if my coming has put that idea out of your mind, for there is no religion so false and corrupt as the Catholic; instead of taking her away from the influence of corruption of all kinds, you would only have exposed her to still worse deceit.”

“Do not speak so bitterly of the Catholic faith, for Mabel, it has been a great comfort to me in my unhappiness.”

“That may well be, for you need some one to whom you can unbosom your sorrows, but I still say that I am thankful that I have saved my little niece from so horrible a fate as being given, body and soul, to that life so fascinating to contemplate, but so terrible in reality.”

“But Mabel, think of it, when she is a little older, she will realize that there is a dreadful gulf between her father and myself. Then, if she should ever come to know, as I do, in all its hideous truth, the fact that her father not only openly defies every supposed law of morality, but seems proud of the fact that he does so. Think Mabel, of my position. I know, and all my acquaintances know of his avowed admiration for Rosie Hastings, and his constant attendance upon her on all occasions. Oh Mabel, when I think of it all, it seems as if I should go crazy. Does society shun him on account of his glaring misdemeanors? No! No indeed. If he were a woman he would not dare to speak to a decent person, but he is a man, and a man with lots of money, so every one closes their eyes to his faults. He is received and made much of everywhere. Men take him into their homes and present him to their wives, without one thought of the horrible fact that he is dead to every feeling of respect for woman. Mothers allow him to dance with, and to amuse their innocent young daughters. Oh, Mabel, is it not terrible?”

“Yes, Lucy, it is, indeed, and, as you say, it is because he has money. Money is the God of Civilization.”

At this moment there was a gentle knock at the door which announced the entrance of Ahleka.

“Ah! you have returned from your jaunt, have you? How did you enjoy it all?” asked Mabel, as he sat down beside her. Ahleka had been seeing the wonders of San Francisco, under the guidance of Mr. Faxon, Mabel’s lawyer. They had been gone all day and it was now late in the evening.

“Do you ask me how I like it all? All the answer I can give, my moonflower, is Kaahlanai is best. We will talk it all over to-morrow, but now it is too late for you to be sitting up, so, with wishes that only sweet thoughts may come to you in the still hours of the darkness, I will say good-night to you both.” Bowing to the cousins, he left the room. The conversation which Ahleka had interrupted was not resumed, but both Lucy and Mabel still thought of it as they prepared to retire.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The day after the arrival of the Eliza Judd, Captain Gray left for New York, where his former home had been. His long exile from his native land and the loss of his family had embittered him. He felt no desire to return to Kaahlanai, where his daughter had defied his commands, following the promptings of her own heart. Life seemed to Captain Gray, a battle to be fought anew. He was no longer young, and it was a hard trial, at his age, to face the loss, not only of his family, but also his vessel, and, with her almost all his worldly possessions; therefore, we need not be surprised that he appeared a broken old man, as he boarded the train bound eastward.

“Lucy,” said Mabel one morning, about six months after the arrival of the Eliza Judd at San Francisco, “Ahleka and I have been talking over our intended return to Kaahlanai. We, both of us prefer the free life there, to that which is led here. We have chartered the Eliza Judd for the trip. Captain Harris says that he will be ready to leave in about a week.”

“Oh! Mabel,” exclaimed Lucy, “how am I going to exist without you? It seems dreadful to think of your leaving me again; but Mabel, after all, why need you leave me behind? Cannot my little Mae and I go with you? There, among those people, whom you have already taught me to love, I may still be happy; there I can bring my darling child up according to the dictates of nature, and need not follow the false ideas that are adhered to among our own people. May we go with you?”

“Indeed you may; we will be only too glad to take you to that paradise where all are so happy. But your husband, will he not object? And will not your mother place obstacles in your way?”

“My husband has passed out of my life entirely. Why, do you know, it has been over two months since I have seen him, or even heard from him. I know he is travelling somewhere in the east accompanied by that creature, Rosie Hastings. As to my mother, I cannot help it, if she does not like it. I shall not let pass this opportunity of securing happiness for myself and Mae.”

“Lucy, you do not know how glad I am that you have decided to accompany us. I did so want to ask you to go, but thought it best to wait until your own heart made you speak.”

That same afternoon Mabel had a long talk with Mr. Faxon, her lawyer, in regard to money matters, the result of which was, that Mabel set aside a certain sum of money for the use of her aunt, Mrs. Maynard. The residue of her property was to be divided amongst deserving people of the middle class; that class, whose whole existence is one struggle to get on in life without letting outsiders know how hard the battle is, in which they fight.

“For theirs is the hardest lot of all,” said Mabel; “they cannot ask help, and cannot take it without lowering their self esteem. The very poor ask, and receive help, but these, never; they must suffer in silence.”

The money was to be sent to them in such a manner, that none of the recipients should ever know whose hand had relieved them of the heavy burdens they had borne so long and patiently.

On Wednesday morning, the 16th of April, 1890, there was a wedding at Mrs. Maynard’s home, which was unique, to say the least of it. The few friends who had assembled to witness the ceremony, were astonished beyond expression, to see the bride and groom enter the room clad, not in the conventional bridal array, but simply wearing the grass skirts, shell bracelets and necklaces belonging to the native land of the groom. Mrs. Maynard felt that she could never get over the disgrace of such an unheard-of performance.

After the wedding, the happy pair, accompanied by Lucy and little Mae, left for the Eliza Judd. An hour later the Judd was towed clear of her wharf, and Mabel looked for the last time on the land of her birth. The departure was watched by a curious crowd of acquaintances, who all wondered if Mabel were not a little affected, mentally. Little did the departing voyagers care what was thought of them; they were content to know that they had chosen the better part.

The trip to Kaahlanai was uneventful. Day after day being passed in the same lazy manner, until one morning Captain Harris at the breakfast table, said: “We shall see Kaahlanai to-day and, if the wind keeps fair as it is now, we shall land there to-night.”

His words proved true. It was not long before they sighted the island. From that moment, until they landed in the evening, the excitement of the little party was intense. The ship had been seen by the inhabitants of the island, so that by the time they landed, there was an expectant crowd on the beach. Imagine the delight of the assembled throng, on beholding in the approaching boat, Ahleka, their beloved king, and Mabel, whom they loved almost as dearly. The meeting was touching in the extreme; there was feasting and merry making for days after their arrival. Mabel and Ahleka tried in vain to induce Captain Harris to remain for a few days with them, but he answered, “No. As you know I came considerably out of my way to bring you here, and now I must be on my way to Australia. I hope I shall never have to come into such a dangerous neighborhood again.” So, bidding them good-bye, he departed, leaving them happy and content, to be again united with their loved ones on this isle of the sea, and there we will leave them also.

THE END.

PRESS NOTICES.

The sketches of Hawaii and the Hawaiians, with illustrations, which appeared last week and are completed in this issue, were written by Mrs. M. A. Pittock, who spent a year on the islands, and has recently become a resident of Chicago—Graphic, Chicago, Sept. 27.

Mrs. M. A. Pittock, who has contributed a number of bright, readable stories for the Inter-Ocean and leading papers and magazines, has just written a clever little book descriptive of tropical life, entitled “The God of Civilization.”—Inter-Ocean, Chicago, Sept. 28.

“The God of Civilization” is the title of a romance, by Mrs. M. A. Pittock, which is soon to be published. The scene of the opening chapters is laid in San Francisco, and the story is said to have a very tropical flavor. Mrs. Pittock is well known on the Pacific Coast, and has written much for the eastern magazines and papers.—Argonaut, San Francisco, Oct. 6.

“The God of Civilization” is the odd title of a charming story of adventure, which has just been issued by the Eureka Publishing Company, Inter-Ocean building, Chicago. The author is well known in Portland, being the wife of G. W. Pittock, formerly of Portland, and the daughter of R. Weeks, Esq. The favorable notice which her writings have attracted of late from leading eastern papers is very flattering.—Sunday Oregonian, Oct. 5.

One of the brightest books of the season has just made its appearance, entitled “The God of Civilization.” The author is Mrs. M. A. Pittock, whose writings in Chicago and eastern papers have been favorably commented upon. It is an extremely interesting novel, treating of life in the mid-Pacific tropics in a style that shows that she is both familiar with the people and the customs, and loves the scenes which she describes so vividly.—New York Journalist, Oct. 11.

Chicago Opera House

COR. WASHINGTON AND CLARK STS.

Most Comfortable, Fire-Proof Theatre in the City. Supplied with the Latest Ventilating Devices.

DAVID HENDERSON, Manager.

The summer season of 1890, the most successful in its history, during which was given an extended run of the CRYSTAL SLIPPER and a season of BLUEBEARD, Jr.

The fall and winter season will include, among other attractions,

LAWRENCE BARRETT.

FRANCIS WILSON,

And his “MERRY MONARCH” Company.

CITY DIRECTORY COMPANY.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. P. 55, changed “For drinking, were provided” to “For drinking, we were provided”.

2. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.

3. Retained archaic, non-standard, uncertain spellings, and chapter numbers as printed.

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Table of Contents

- THE God of Civilization. A ROMANCE

- CHAPTER I.

- CHAPTER II.

- CHAPTER III.

- CHAPTER V.

- CHAPTER VI.

- CHAPTER VII.

- CHAPTER VIII.

- CHAPTER IX.

- CHAPTER X.

- CHAPTER XI.

- CHAPTER XII.

- CHAPTER XIII.

- CHAPTER XIV.

- CHAPTER XV.

- CHAPTER XVI.

- CHAPTER XVII.

- CHAPTER XVIII.

- CHAPTER XIX.

- CHAPTER XX.

- CHAPTER XXI.

- CHAPTER XXII.

- CHAPTER XXIII.

- PRESS NOTICES.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE