This was a pretty astonishing request, and for a few seconds I gazed blankly at the girl.

“Good Heavens!” I said, “she must be mad to think of such a thing! And I should be as equally mad to even entertain the idea of taking her with me in a small boat on a voyage of more than a thousand miles.”

“Nay, she is not mad, Simi. And she hath set her heart on this. It would be cruel to leave her to die.”

“And to take her away would be still more cruel,” I cried. “Such a long, long voyage is a hard and dangerous venture even for strong men—men who should be both good navigators and good seamen. But a weak, delicate woman—oh, it's all sheer nonsense, girl.”

She put her hand on mine, and the moment I felt her warm touch, my impatience ceased. I would argue the thing out with her, I thought, and soon convince her that it would be impossible. Impossible—folly, utter folly. I must not think of such a thing for a moment. And yet—and yet—I rose from my seat, walked to the window, and then turned to NiÂbon.

“'Tis a mad idea,” I said, trying to speak angrily, and failing lamentably. “'Tis you alone, NiÂbon, who hath made her ask me to do this.”

“That is not true, Simi,” she replied quietly, “Yet when I spoke to her of our voyage, her heart's wishes came to her lips, and I knew that she would ask to come with thee, even as I know that thou wilt not leave her here to die.”

I could make no answer for the time. What was coming over me, that I could listen to such a suggestion with patience? What a strange influence did this girl NiÂbon possess that I, a sensible man, felt she could and would make me yield to her wishes, and let a sickly, delicate woman like Mrs. Krause accompany me on a voyage that presented nothing but danger. The fever must have weakened my brain, I thought.

But then, on the other hand, Mrs. Krause was a free agent. She had no children. Her husband had just been killed. I, the only other white man on the island to whom she could look to for social intercourse at long intervals, was leaving the island. Her mind had been tortured, and her life made miserable by her brute of a husband. Could I, as a man, leave her among a community of naked savages to fret out her life? She wished to come with me. Well, I should tell her of the dangers—aye, and the horrors—of such a voyage as I was bent upon. I should conceal nothing from her—nothing, absolutely nothing. I should tell her of how the wife of the captain of the ship Octavia, from Sydney to Singapore, had seen her husband die, and the famishing crew of the boat which had left the burnt ship, drag his body from her with savage curses and threats, and——

“Simi.”

“What is it, Niabon? What would you have me do? Why do you tempt me to let this poor, weak lady accompany me on a voyage, which will, most likely, end in death to us all?”

“There will be danger, but no death,” she replied dreamily, turning her face away from me towards the sea, and slowly extending her arms; “and thou, Simi—thou shalt gain thy heart's desire. For I have seen it all, even as I see it now.”

“My heart's desire! Tell me what is my heart's desire?”

I stepped up to her and placed my hand gently on her head, and, bending down, saw that her eyes were closed.

“My heart's desire, Niabon? tell me what is my heart's desire,” I said again, and as I spoke I caught my breath, and tried hard to steady myself.

“Fame, Fame! The praise of men for a great deed! This is thy heart's desire, Simi. To do such things as were done by the three men of whom thou dreame——”

“What three men?” I whispered, and in an instant there flashed through my mind the memory of the daring deeds of Jack Collier of Tahiti, of tousle-headed Barney Watt of the Ripple, and big Cameron of Honolulu. “Who are the three men of whom I dream?”

She pressed her hands to her bosom, and then turned her face, with her eyes still closed, to mine.

“I do not know, Simi. I cannot see beyond as I can do sometimes; for I am tired, and many other things are in my mind. But yet I can see one man of the three whom thou dost so often think.”

“Tell me, then,” and I knelt beside the girl and looked upwards to her face—“tell me of one man of the three. What is he like?”

“Simi, oh, Simi, be not too hard with me; for though I can see many faces, they are new and strange to me. And they quickly become faint and dim, and then vanish—but the sound of their voices seem to beat upon my closed ears—and I cannot understand, Simi, I cannot understand.”

I took her hand in mine and pressed it gently. I did not want to torment the poor girl, but I did want to know something more of the one man of the three of whom she had spoken.

“Can you tell me of the one man, NiÂbon?” I said gently. “Is he young and strong, and of good looks?”

“He is not young, but is strong, and his eyes are deep-set and stern; and a great red beard flows down upon his broad chest; his feet are covered with boots that come to the knee, and he carries a stick in his hand, for he is lame.”

I started. I knew whom she meant—it was Cameron of Honolulu, and had the man been there himself, in his rough rig-out, and leaning on his heavy stick as he walked, she could not have described him more clearly!

“No more shall I doubt you,” I cried. “I will do all you wish.”

She made no answer, but sat with eyes still closed, and her bosom gently rising and falling as if she were asleep. Fearing that I should do her some harm if I endeavoured to rouse her from what seemed to be a trance, I went softly away, and with a strange feeling of exaltation tingling through my veins, took down my roll of charts from my book-shelf, and opening out No. 780—one of the four sheets embracing the North and South Pacific—studied it carefully.

“I shall do it, I shall do it,” I said aloud, and already I fancied I could see my boat sailing into either Levuka or else Apia Harbour, fifteen hundred miles away, and hear the cheers, and see the flags run up by the ships in port, as I stepped out of my boat on to the beach to report myself to the British Consul—“Jim Sherry, master and owner of a twenty-eight feet whale-boat, from Tarawa Island, in the Gilbert Group.”

It would be an achievement, and I should become as well known as Cameron. But—and here my vanity received a check—Cameron sailed fifteen hundred miles in a poorly equipped dinghy, and yet succeeded in reaching Jaluit in the Marshall Islands, whilst I should have everything in my favour as far as equipment went.

But I would do more than Cameron did, I thought. If I reached either Samoa or Fiji safely, I would go on across to New Caledonia, and possibly from there on to the east coast of Australia! That would be something that had never yet been done by any one in a small boat, and would make me famous indeed!

That night I was too excited to think of sleeping, so remained up and worked at a new jib I was making, taking care to avoid any noise, for I found that NiÂbon was now really asleep, and I did not want to disturb her.

She did not awaken till nearly midnight, just as Tematan returned. He handed me a note. It was from Mrs. Krause, asking me, if it would not be inconvenient to me, would I come to Taritai in the morning, as she greatly wished to see me on a matter of importance. I smiled at NiÂbon as I read it, for I could easily guess what it was that the lady was so anxious to see me about.

I started off as soon as it was daylight, and on reaching Taritai village found Mrs. Krause expecting me, early as it was. She was pale, but yet, I imagined, looking better than she had when we last met. She went into the subject at once.

“Mr. Sherry, will it not be possible for you to let me go with you in the boat?”

“Yes, you can come. But I tell you frankly that we may never see Samoa or Fiji, for the risks of such a long voyage must necessarily be very great, even if we have fine weather all the way.”

Her face lit up with pleasure. “It is kind of you. And you will not find me troublesome. I should go mad if I were left alone here, for NiÂbon has always been such a friend to me. Whenever my husband was away, she came and stayed with me.”

This allusion to her husband, I could see, pained her, and therefore, although I knew that several parties were out in search of him, I did not mention his name to her.

“Mr. Sherry,” she said presently, “I have a suggestion to make. One of the boats belonging to this station was lost, as you know, not long ago, but there is another, a large one, which was sold to some natives. Would you like me to send for her, and if you like it better than your own, I think we could buy it back.”

I knew the boat well enough by sight. She was half-decked, and although not a beauty to look at, was certainly a much better and safer boat than my own for a long voyage. I decided to inspect her, and my hostess at once despatched a man to the village where the boat was then lying with a message to the chief to bring her to Taritai. I told Mrs. Krause that if the boat was seaworthy she would certainly be far preferable to my own, and that I would buy it from the natives. And then, much against my will, I had to ask her what she intended doing with her husband's property when she left the island.

“That is one subject upon which I want your advice. Will you look at his account-books, and tell me his position with the firm in Hamburg?”

Krause had kept his books very methodically, and after taking stock of the little trade goods that were still unsold, and counting his cash, I was able to tell her pretty exactly how he stood. There was about £200 due to him altogether.

“What would you advise me to do?” she asked.

“As far as the house and all that is in it is concerned, you can do nothing but leave it under the care of the head men of Taritai. They will undertake the responsibility, and hand the station over to the first German ship that calls.”

“There will be a man-o'-war here soon, the Elizabeth. At least, we heard that she was likely to come here some time this year.”

I said she would be doing wisely if she remained on the island, and got the man-of-war captain to settle up Krause's affairs; but she shuddered and looked at me in such fear that I said no more, beyond remarking that as her husband had left no will—at least, as far as she knew—I feared she would have trouble in getting the amount due to him at the time of his death. She would probably have to go to Sydney, where there was a branch of the firm he was trading for.

“I don't want the £200,” she said vehemently. “I have a little money of my own—about twenty dollars—and one cannot well starve anywhere in the South Seas. I am young and can work. I could earn my living by making Panama hats if I could find nothing else to do.”