Thinking it would be wiser to refrain from asking her any questions until she had at least rested a little—for she seemed to be very weary—I said nothing to her but a few words of welcome, and bade my servants lay the supper, then told her that I was sure she was both hungry and tired. She replied that she certainly was tired, having come on foot from Taritai to save time. The canoe with Tematau was to follow on later in the night when the tide turned, and when there would be more water on the upper sand flats of the lagoon.

“Very well, NiÂbon,” I said in English, “now sit down and drink a cup of tea and eat a little. Then we can talk.”

“I have many things of which to tell thee, Simi,” she said, “for I have been speaking long with the wife of the man Krause, and——”

I told her that it would please me better if she first ate something. She at once obeyed, but instead of sitting at the table with me she seated herself on a mat near me, and Pai waited upon her whilst big Tepi attended to me. Only once did she speak during the meal, when she asked me if I had had any recurrence of either fever or ague, and she was undoubtedly pleased when I said that I had not, and that another coarse or two of her medicine would, I believed, care me. She smiled, and told me she would make more of the mixture that evening.

After eating a very slight sapper she made herself a cigarette and sat and smoked until I had finished my pipe. Then she came a little nearer to me, and I felt ashamed of myself for not having asked her if her neck gave her much pain, for I now noticed that the neck and front of her dress were blood-stained. She made light of the wound, however; said it was but skin deep, and would be healed in a few days. But I insisted upon her letting me see for myself. She consented somewhat unwillingly, and I saw that she had had a very narrow escape, the heavy bullet from Krause's Derringer having scored her neck pretty deeply and made a wound nearly two inches long. She had, however, she told me, had it attended to by Mrs. Krause, who had done the very best thing that could have been done to a superficial injury of the kind—painted it liberally with Friar's Balsam, which though causing intense pain for a few minutes, had quickly stayed the flow of blood and prevented any inflammation from setting in.

“Is Mrs. Krause well, NiÀbon?” I asked as I readjusted the bandage.

“She is well.”

“And she knows how her husband died?”

“She knows how he died, but knows not whose were the hands that dealt the blows. And, Simi, it is well that she does not know, for I am her friend, and it would grieve her did she know all.”

I thought a moment or two before answering—

“How can the truth be kept from her, NiÂbon? There are many people who know 'twas thee and Tematau who slew him.”

“She will never know, Simi,” she asserted earnestly; “there is but one man who could tell her, and him she will not ask.”

“Who is that?” I asked wonderingly.

“Thyself.”

“Why should she not ask me? Her husband met his death in my house. I saw his body lying at my feet. Dost think she will fail to question me if others whom she may ask remain silent?”

“She will ask thee no questions concerning him. His death hath taken away from her a terror by day and bad dreams at night that for two years hath wrung her heart and weakened her body, which is but frail. Have pity on her, Simi, and say nothing to her when thou seest her of her dead husband. He is gone; and yet, although she wept when I told her he was dead, and she knelt and prayed for his spirit which has gone beyond, I know well that now some peace hath come into her heart. And I have given her sleep.”

As she spoke she turned her strangely sombrous and liquid eyes to mine in such an appealing glance that I could not resist her magnetic power, strive as I would.

“I will do as you wish, NiÂbon,” I said, falling weakly into English again. “You are a strange girl, but I am sure that you mean well, not alone to me, but to that poor heartbroken woman. But you must tell me the meaning of all this strange silence on the part of the people of this village. Why do they deny the death of Krause? How can they conceal it? It cannot possibly be hidden. There is a German man-of-war coming to this island soon—Mrs. Krause herself told me—and how will these people account to the captain for his death? You and Tematau, who together killed him, cannot escape. And if I am questioned—as I shall be—what can I do? I cannot lie about a murder.”

“It was no murder, Simi,” she said steadily, and I felt that the girl was but right in her assertion; “it is no murder to strike and kill, and kill quickly, he who would slay the innocent and unoffending. That man was a devil.”

“What have you done with him, NiÂbon? He might have been the devil you say he was; but he was a white man, and it is my place to see that he is buried as Christians bury the dead. He used me roughly, but——”

She placed her hand on my knee, and her very touch subdued my excitement.

“Simi, the man is dead, and not even a strand of his hair is left on earth. No one can ever question thee, or Tematau, or me, about him. He is gone, and even his name is already vanished from these people among whom he has dwelt. Dost not understand me?”

“No, I do not understand, NiÂbon,” I said more gently. “How can his name be vanished when but a few hours ago he was alive and well. Tell me, in plain English, what you mean by saying that no one can question you and Tematau and myself about the manner of his death?”

“Because, Simi, thou and I and others shall be far away from here when the man's countrymen come in the fighting-ship.”

“I wish to Heaven we were far away at this moment,” I said impatiently. “I am sick to death of the place, and don't want to find myself a prisoner on board a German man-of-war on suspicion of being concerned in Krause's death.”

She again repeated her assurance that I should never be questioned.

“Where is Mrs. Krause now?” I asked.

“At Taritai.”

“NiÀbon”—and I placed my hand on her head—“you must not keep me in the dark about some things. I want you to answer me truly some questions. And, though I do not know why, I have this moment resolved to leave the island as quickly as possible. Would you come with me?”

“Yes, Mr. Sherry. Of course I am coming with you,” she answered in English. “I told you that you and I and some other people would soon be together upon the sea. And I will answer any question you ask me. I don't want to deceive you. Why should I try to deceive you?”

As she turned her full, soft eyes up to my face, I saw in them such undoubted sincerity that I felt it was not possible for me again to doubt her.

“No, I am sure you will not deceive me, NiÀbon. And I want you to tell me straightforwardly the meaning of all this mystery. First of all, what has been done with the German's body? where is it buried?”

“In the sea. It was taken far out where the water is very, very deep—three hundred fathoms—and the mats in which it was wrapped were weighted so heavily with stones that it took six men to carry it down to the canoe.”

“Why was this done? Why was he not buried on shore?”

“I will tell you, Mr. Sherry. It was done so that when the German man-of-war comes here, no trace of him will ever be found;” and then she told me frankly the whole story, and the meaning of the strange silence of the natives.

Krause, she said, after his savage attack upon Tematau, had told his terrified wife that he meant to bring back Tematau, and kill NiÂbon. After drinking heavily all night, he had started off alone in the morning, armed with a brace of revolvers and a Derringer pistol. He at first tried to get some forty or fifty of the Taritai young men to accompany him, and make a regular marauding expedition upon my village; but though they were eager to go with him and engage in battle with their old enemies, NiÂbon, assisted by the more cautious head men, succeeded in dissuading them, and finally Krause went off alone. He travelled along the inner beach of the lagoon, and as soon as he reached my village marched boldly up to my house, boastfully calling out to the natives that he had come to take Tematau out of the Englishman's house, alive or dead—a few minutes later he himself was dead.

A hurried consultation was at once held by the head men, and it was resolved to dispose of Krause's body so effectually that no trace of it would ever be found, and every man, woman, and child in the village of Utiroa was sternly warned not only against even alluding to the manner of his death, but even admitting that he had even been seen by any one of them on that particular day. Hastily wrapping the dead man in mats, the body was taken out to sea, and sunk as NiÂbon had described.

Then the fleet of canoes from the village began fishing as if nothing unusual had occurred, and after they had been out some hours they were met by eight or ten canoes from Taritai, which were also engaged in fishing. The moment they were within speaking distance the Taritai men inquired whether Krause had fulfilled his threat, and carried Tematau away. The Utiroa people affected great surprise, and said that they had seen nothing of him, but that most probably he had thought better of doing such a foolish and offensive thing, and had returned to Taritai again. The two fleets of canoes remained together for some little time, discussing Krause, and then one of the Taritai men frankly admitted that he (Krause) had tried to induce them to make a raid on Utiroa, but that NiÂbon and the head men had set their faces against such a wicked act of aggression.

“It is well for him then that he did not come to Utiroa to-day,” said old Kaibuka's son gravely. “Such a man as he is not wanted in our town. So keep him at Taritai.”

In the meantime NiÂbon and Tematau had set out for Taritai to acquaint Mrs. Krause of the tragedy which had occurred. The moment they entered the village they were surrounded by natives, who eagerly inquired when Krause was returning—had he driven Tematau out of the Englishman's house? etc., etc. Both NiÂbon and her companion expressed surprise—neither they nor any one else in Utiroa had seen Krause, they said, and Tematau had come with her to ask Mrs. Krause to try and induce her husband to let him leave his service. The natives accepted their story without the slightest doubt, and the two went on their way to the white man's house.

As soon as she and Mrs. Krause were alone NiÂbon told her the cause of her visit and the steps which had been taken by the head men of Utiroa to conceal her husband's death, so that when the German warship arrived and found him missing, the people of Utiroa could not be, even after the most searching investigation, connected with his disappearance. Mrs. Krause quite agreed that a wise course had been taken, for were it proved that her husband had been killed in Utiroa, the man-of-war would certainly inflict a terrible punishment on the village, as was usual with German warships' procedure in the South Seas.

Then at NiÂbon's suggestion she summoned the head men, and told them that her husband had not reached Utiroa. Something must have happened to him. Would they send out and search for him, and if they found him, urge him to return, as Tematau had come back, and there was now no occasion for him (Krause) to offend the people of Utiroa by entering their village armed.

The head men were only too willing, and at once sent out search parties, and when NiÀbon was coming back, she met two of them, who told her that they had been to Utiroa itself, but not one single person had seen anything of the white man, and they were now returning along the weather side of the island to search for him in the thick jungle, where they imagined he might have strayed and lost himself.

“So that is why these people here have acted so strangely, Mr. Sherry,” she concluded. “It would be terrible for them to be all killed, and the village burnt. For the Germans are very cruel. I have seen them do very, very cruel things.”

“I think the Utiroa people have done right. The German brought his death on himself. But I fear that the secret must come out some day. The Taritai people will surely suspect something.”

“No. No one of the Taritai people will ever know. By this time to-morrow they will all say that he has been drowned when crossing one of those narrow channels between the islands on the weather side, for there are many deep pools, and the coral sometimes breaks under the pressure of a man's foot. And so they will think he has fallen in one of those pools, and his body carried out to sea, or into the lagoon, and eaten by the sharks.”

Her emphatic manner reassured me.

“Well, it is a bad business, NiÀbon; but it cannot be helped. But I shall get away from here as soon as possible.”

“I am glad. And Simi, there is yet one other thing of which I have not yet spoken. It is of Lucia.”

She always called Mrs. Krause by her Christian name, as did the natives generally.

“What of her?”

“She desires greatly to come with us in the boat. And I pray thee to be kind to her, else will she die here of loneliness and terror.”